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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
"Sir, I would implore you reconsider."
I glanced at the realtor, who was sweating profusely. Cute. A business man with more morals than greed. "You're not doing your job very well. I have already told you I'm going to take this house. When can I move in?"
"A..As you can see, it is empty. As soon as the contract is done, you may move in." He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. "Sir. This house is haunted. I showed it to you because it was vacant, but everyone who has lived in this house has either turned into a murderer or was found dead. I do not want a death on my hands."
"It's out of your hands, Mr. Cornelius. I'm running impatient. Sell me the house and begone." I looked at him coldly, and the nervous realtor nodded.
After all the business was done, I called the movers, and waited in the new home. I could feel the presence of the creatures that stalked the halls, and felt more than one set of eyes. I smiled softly at their arrogance.
There was a soft knock on the door, though I sensed no one outside of it. The demons were starting already. How childish. I ignored the knocking, instead deciding to patrol my new home. It was not a massive home, which was what I expected from the presence of such malicious spirits. And so many of them!
I walked upstairs slowly, and there were footsteps that I was not making made it sound like someone else was in the house. I ignored that too, and proceeded to the master bedroom. My mind tasted the hint of a presence, one I had not felt in some time.
"My old friend," I said softly. "It makes sense. You drew the others in." The presence disappeared, and I realized that he was never truly there. Perhaps he had once been, many years ago, with some poor sap.
The demons had had enough, and flashed a powerful illusion with their concerted powers, of blood on the walls, which were coming alive and forming the faces of the dead. I scoffed. There were no human souls here. Not yet, anyways.
I waved my hand with a bit of will, and the image faded. The demons panicked, and tried to move away. I held them in place with my will, muttering incantations under my breath to seal them forever.
They were young. Indeed, their essence had existed before time itself, but consciousness only came to them when my old friend had made contact here. As far as I knew, he barely came to the mortal realm. Including my own ascension, he had only appeared thrice, as far as I knew. I estimated their life, based on the age of the house, to be less than a hundred years old.
Pitiful.
Immediately, they fled. But they could not escape the house, and I laughed at their futility. I gave chase slowly, walking towards their presence, delighting in their fear. I invoked necromancy, and spirits, human victims of the demons, fueled by my power and their rage, trapped the demons from teleporting around the place. They ran as mortals from a creature beyond their reckoning. Me.
The eldest of them, the most powerful by far, led the others back downstairs, and I followed, my senses reaching out to best enjoy this moment. Cornered, the demons turned back to me and combined their powers one last time. I felt the push against me. It would have knocked a mortal man flat, possibly even kill him. I pushed back with my own will and collapsed their pitiable attempt.
"What is this?" the eldest demon cried, its voice echoing and haunting. "A mortal man, dominating us so?"
I grinned at it. "You have clearly never dealt with the likes of me. Very few have. What makes you believe I am mortal?"
The demon radiated confusion. "You are no kin of ours, creature. Neither are you a god. Are you an angel then, sent to punish us?"
I sneered. "I am no angel. You are not being punished. You are being consumed."
"Consumed?"
I breathed in their power, and they faltered momentarily. The powers I stole replenished quickly in them, and I felt like I had been handed a great gift. "You are hardly the most powerful demons I have encountered, but it is a delight that so many of you have gathered here. Perhaps I shall stay here much longer than I had initially anticipated. Your souls shall extend the expiry date on my own, and I will continue to be. Que sera, sera."
The eldest demon tried another lunge, only to fail again. Fear crept into its voice. "Who are you?"
"A man condemned to die." But never will.
|
"No...no." I said.
The real estate agent came back with another offer. Houses in Toronto were going for far more these days. The market had gone bonkers. Just fucked. Up a few hundred percent since 9/11.
She mentioned that her sellers wanted more. *More.* There were multiple offers. I mean, it might have been a half-shack leaner, but it was a house. A *house.* And in actual Toronto, not that shit that we call Toronto these days. *Real* Toronto. In between the DVP, Eglington, and Jane. The actual, real, city.
"It's a place with good bones, a place to-"
I stopped her right there. "This house is falling apart. It's on a busy street. It's a fucking shithole and a deathtrap. Anyone who buys it will be in for at least a hundred thousand on aesthetic repairs alone, and fuck knows what we'll see when we open these walls. Aluminum wiring, asbestos, rot."
She continued, with that pathetic whine that only someone who failed into real estate can muster: "We need first and best, with a cheque for $100,000 stapled to."
I winced. These people can't be fucking serious. But, of course, they were. Too many idiots, too little housing stock. "Do you know how much housing appreciated in Toronto between 1989 and 2000?" She looked at me vacant. Eyes that held only a small amount of greed and little else. "Huh?" "Between 1989 and 2000. How much did houses appreciate in Toronto?" "Housing in Toronto has always been a good investment, and this property is particularly good in that regard."
Fuck. *Fuck.*
"Nothing." "What?" She answered. "Nothing." I replied. "If you would have put your down payment in a simple bundle of stocks, or even played the market, you would have made far, far more than in Toronto housing for the last ten years, eliminating the penultimate decade of today. Between 1989 and 2000 houses moved at less than the rate of inflation. *Nothing.*"
She looked at me, and just repeated, "housing is always a good investment, particularly today. Put an aggressive offer in for this house or walk away."
So I walked away. A few years later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, with nothing left but a crippled economy and a bad pantsuit, crumpled on the floor with peers all around.
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
From the moment I walked into this place, I felt home. Its interior filled with ancient furniture covered in yellowed plastic and musty carpets. The covered paintings with heavy drop sheets sealed the deal for me. It was an impressive place, and they were selling it for a song. The realtor was insistent that I check out some of the other places he had for sale. He claimed that they were more up to date with building codes but I had waved him with a briefcase full of money. That single briefcase held more than double the amount of money the house was selling for. But I didn't mind.
What I did mind was after the second week of moving in, the spirit that haunted the place showed herself. Her name was Cassandra, a young spirit who thought that she could scare me out of the house. Before this point, I had noticed that my guns had moved a few times, aiming themselves at me. Or knives tossed at my back. Anything she could do to attempt to kill me. But every time, I sensed her before she could actually get me. I would 'slip' and have the knife fly over my head without so much as harming a hair on my head. Or in the cases of the guns, they had biometric locks - advantages of my race's technology.
But when Cassandra showed herself to me after the two weeks of hell, she looked exhausted. Deadly tired, one could say. "What are you?" she asked me first, floating to the end of my bed and sitting on the corner. "You don't know? What's more powerful than any spirit?" I replied, sitting up and staring through shut eyes at her. Despite the fact she kept trying to kill me, this was the first time she had actually faced me. I couldn't let her know what I was immediately, or she would run. And in doing so, would defeat my entire purpose of being here.
"I don't know. You're not human, no human is ever that lucky. And a demon you are also not, despite you using our technology. No, nothing could survive as long as you have, unless you're something more than us." "Of course I am," I spoke to her, my voice as soft as the velvet bedsheets in which I lay. I opened my eyes now, revealing the blood red eyes behind my pale eyelids. The. As she looked me over, she gasped, before bowing. "Anubis in Nekuquar..." she spoke, now in awe. She stopped when she stared into my eyes, and realized who I was. The horror crept across her face as I smirked, before laughing. "My name is Hell Noire, but you can call me 'Hell'." I spoke as she cursed and cursed, now knowing who I was.
"If I had known it was you, Hell, I would have..."
"You would have never tried to strike me?"
"Well, no... I'm just so lonely, so scared here. So hungry here," the last part growled out, as if angry that she couldn't kill me. Expected, I thought to myself. Spirits would often emphasize the reason they hadn't come to us to go to the Afterlife. And with her emphasizing hunger, meant corruption in her soul. Not good for humanity, but an easy enough time for me... assuming she co-operated, of course.
"You've been feeding on the souls of the people that have lived here, Cassandra. Killing them just to eat. You know we can't allow that, and you know that's why I'm here," I spoke, reaching for the gun I had on my bedside table.
"And I won't let you take me, Hell Noire," she shrieked, erupting into a spiritual fireball. She succeed in blinding me for a moment, as I shielded my eyes. Instinct took over, as I rolled from the bed to the floor, grabbing my gun on the way down. I could feel it's heavy grip in my hand and I leveled it in front of me. While it looked like an old flintlock pistol, she shrieked in horror and tried to get away. She appeared to know exactly what it was and what exactly it did. With a small crack, the gun discharged, unleashing the payload into her non-corporeal body. As it tore though her, it sparked and shot out lightning bolts into her form. This would break down the energy that would be running though her, but only for a short time. Once though her, it fell to the ground, rolling now only due to it's spherical shape. It's momentum was no more, as she fell over. Paralyzed from the discharge of over a million volts through her.
I knew I had to act fast though. Now that she knew who I was, she knew she had to run away from me, for I was her end. I grabbed under the bed the package I had brought with me, and opened it with haste. Inside was a long, thin sword, silver in colour. Beautiful runes engraved on its hilt, and blade, all undecipherable to any human eye. But we both were not human, and we both knew what it did.
"Hell, have mercy on me," she begged, feeling her energy starting to return to her as she attempted to get away.
"You know the punishment for consuming human souls, Cassandra. And you know it's worse that you converted one into a Familiar. You know that we protect the humans and the demons now, and that this is only right." I spoke, standing now and wielding the heavy sword with my left hand. I swung it around a little bit as the runes started glowing. Instinctively, she covered her face, knowing she was too weak to run, and knew how I was going to use it.
"NOOOOOOooooooo...." she shrieked, as she attempted to stand, no doubt attempting to blind me again. This time, I slammed the blade though her form, slicing it clean in two. Exploding in a flash of light, she was no more, and my job here, completed. I placed the sword back into its case with the pistol next to it, and slipped both back under the bed. This time tomorrow, the house would be back on the market, now unpossessed for anyone to sell. Old and rickety, perhaps, but no worse for the wear. Humans could proclaim ghost stories about the place, but they'd be none the wiser about the truth. Her Familiar, the realtor who sold it to me would wake up tomorrow for the first time in several years. He'd be free at last from her control, but not remember a single thing about any of it. And, of course, it would be up to me to contact someone to sell this hellhole. Assuming I didn't want to be lazy and let the tax man grab it. Ah well, a job best left for tomorrow, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep again. And with that, the house settled without so much as a peep.
|
"No...no." I said.
The real estate agent came back with another offer. Houses in Toronto were going for far more these days. The market had gone bonkers. Just fucked. Up a few hundred percent since 9/11.
She mentioned that her sellers wanted more. *More.* There were multiple offers. I mean, it might have been a half-shack leaner, but it was a house. A *house.* And in actual Toronto, not that shit that we call Toronto these days. *Real* Toronto. In between the DVP, Eglington, and Jane. The actual, real, city.
"It's a place with good bones, a place to-"
I stopped her right there. "This house is falling apart. It's on a busy street. It's a fucking shithole and a deathtrap. Anyone who buys it will be in for at least a hundred thousand on aesthetic repairs alone, and fuck knows what we'll see when we open these walls. Aluminum wiring, asbestos, rot."
She continued, with that pathetic whine that only someone who failed into real estate can muster: "We need first and best, with a cheque for $100,000 stapled to."
I winced. These people can't be fucking serious. But, of course, they were. Too many idiots, too little housing stock. "Do you know how much housing appreciated in Toronto between 1989 and 2000?" She looked at me vacant. Eyes that held only a small amount of greed and little else. "Huh?" "Between 1989 and 2000. How much did houses appreciate in Toronto?" "Housing in Toronto has always been a good investment, and this property is particularly good in that regard."
Fuck. *Fuck.*
"Nothing." "What?" She answered. "Nothing." I replied. "If you would have put your down payment in a simple bundle of stocks, or even played the market, you would have made far, far more than in Toronto housing for the last ten years, eliminating the penultimate decade of today. Between 1989 and 2000 houses moved at less than the rate of inflation. *Nothing.*"
She looked at me, and just repeated, "housing is always a good investment, particularly today. Put an aggressive offer in for this house or walk away."
So I walked away. A few years later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, with nothing left but a crippled economy and a bad pantsuit, crumpled on the floor with peers all around.
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
"Got another story for us Tony?"
"Well Kev, you never know what you're gonna come across in my line of work, but you've gotta deal with everything you get thrown at you cause that's the only way you get paid. Take yesterday for example. I get the van and head up to this big house up the far side of Chester. Nice long drive that one. So I get up there, drive up to the gate, can't be later than 2 and it's pitch black out."
"Pitch black Tony?"
"Aye Kevin. Pitch black. Moonlight and everything."
"So what the hell did you do Tony?"
"My job o'course Kev. Not gonna let a few smoke and mirrors stop me from putting food on the table am I? Where was I?"
"It was pitch black Tony."
"Ah yeah, so it's pitch black, and then the gate opens on it's own. Pretty shoddy security if you ask me but never gonna moan about an easy day on the job. So I get up to the door, and I'm getting ready to use my big voice, you know the one I practiced for when we needed a bingo caller that one time, and a ghost sticks his head through the door."
"A ghost Tony?"
"Yeah Kev, a bloody ghost."
"What the hell do ya do in that situation Tony?"
"Well I showed him the Letter didn't I. Can't be letting him have the upper hand. Learned that on my first day of the job where..."
"You told us that one before Tony."
"I know Barry, I know. I swear, no appreciation for good storytelling you guys. Anyway, I show the ghost the Letter and he pales, goes whiter than he already was and he's like 'I'll go get the Master'."
"The Master Tony?"
"Yeah Kev, The Master. Far too pretty for a guy in my opinion, said something about being a vampire. I told him it didn't matter because he was 6 months overdue. He bows his head and Says he'll be out by Wednesday."
"Are you trying to tell me that not only did you meet a Vampire, you handed him his notice and he just skulked off Tony."
"Well Kev, you know how they always give in to a greater evil and all that Jazz. It's like Barry always says. Ain't no greater evil than private bailiffs. Which reminds me Barry. It's your round."
|
"No...no." I said.
The real estate agent came back with another offer. Houses in Toronto were going for far more these days. The market had gone bonkers. Just fucked. Up a few hundred percent since 9/11.
She mentioned that her sellers wanted more. *More.* There were multiple offers. I mean, it might have been a half-shack leaner, but it was a house. A *house.* And in actual Toronto, not that shit that we call Toronto these days. *Real* Toronto. In between the DVP, Eglington, and Jane. The actual, real, city.
"It's a place with good bones, a place to-"
I stopped her right there. "This house is falling apart. It's on a busy street. It's a fucking shithole and a deathtrap. Anyone who buys it will be in for at least a hundred thousand on aesthetic repairs alone, and fuck knows what we'll see when we open these walls. Aluminum wiring, asbestos, rot."
She continued, with that pathetic whine that only someone who failed into real estate can muster: "We need first and best, with a cheque for $100,000 stapled to."
I winced. These people can't be fucking serious. But, of course, they were. Too many idiots, too little housing stock. "Do you know how much housing appreciated in Toronto between 1989 and 2000?" She looked at me vacant. Eyes that held only a small amount of greed and little else. "Huh?" "Between 1989 and 2000. How much did houses appreciate in Toronto?" "Housing in Toronto has always been a good investment, and this property is particularly good in that regard."
Fuck. *Fuck.*
"Nothing." "What?" She answered. "Nothing." I replied. "If you would have put your down payment in a simple bundle of stocks, or even played the market, you would have made far, far more than in Toronto housing for the last ten years, eliminating the penultimate decade of today. Between 1989 and 2000 houses moved at less than the rate of inflation. *Nothing.*"
She looked at me, and just repeated, "housing is always a good investment, particularly today. Put an aggressive offer in for this house or walk away."
So I walked away. A few years later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, with nothing left but a crippled economy and a bad pantsuit, crumpled on the floor with peers all around.
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
We needed our own place. I wasn't a bachelor any more, and Tomas and I were supposed to be married in a week. I'd lived at work for most of My life, which wasn't really all that bad... but I'm supposed to be a grownup now, with a mortal husband to care for and protect.
Getting Earth money was surprisingly hard. Any proper person exchanges souls, not money, for anything worthwhile. But I managed, thanks to a greedy and particularly orange politician. I don't think he's treating the soul particularly well, but I got a lot of money for it.
Oh, yeah... the house... Super good deal. It's a giant house on the east side of town. It sits on a hill and somehow attracts lightning 24-7. The local kids seem to be afraid of it, and I've let them see Me a couple of times. The running and shrieking is just adorable.
Will Tomas want kids someday? We'd have to adopt, of course. My children usually create apocalypses, and Tomas is a surprisingly gentle man.
Funny story: I was regaling this to Myself, out loud, and the walls practically started salivating at the mention of children. I mean, honestly. Eating children is *so* out of style these days. Addressing lesser creatures isn't done, of course. I mentioned, casually and out loud, that I'd be forced to redecorate if any harm came to a guest in My house. The house pretended to be normal for nearly a week. Hilarious.
Tomas, of course, fell in love with the house the moment he saw it. The house's demons were terrified of Me (as they should be), so they pamper Tomas as much as possible. I came home one night, masking my power, to hear Tomas arguing with them about the best way to mix an Old Fashioned.
We're going to be happy here, together. I just know it.
|
"No...no." I said.
The real estate agent came back with another offer. Houses in Toronto were going for far more these days. The market had gone bonkers. Just fucked. Up a few hundred percent since 9/11.
She mentioned that her sellers wanted more. *More.* There were multiple offers. I mean, it might have been a half-shack leaner, but it was a house. A *house.* And in actual Toronto, not that shit that we call Toronto these days. *Real* Toronto. In between the DVP, Eglington, and Jane. The actual, real, city.
"It's a place with good bones, a place to-"
I stopped her right there. "This house is falling apart. It's on a busy street. It's a fucking shithole and a deathtrap. Anyone who buys it will be in for at least a hundred thousand on aesthetic repairs alone, and fuck knows what we'll see when we open these walls. Aluminum wiring, asbestos, rot."
She continued, with that pathetic whine that only someone who failed into real estate can muster: "We need first and best, with a cheque for $100,000 stapled to."
I winced. These people can't be fucking serious. But, of course, they were. Too many idiots, too little housing stock. "Do you know how much housing appreciated in Toronto between 1989 and 2000?" She looked at me vacant. Eyes that held only a small amount of greed and little else. "Huh?" "Between 1989 and 2000. How much did houses appreciate in Toronto?" "Housing in Toronto has always been a good investment, and this property is particularly good in that regard."
Fuck. *Fuck.*
"Nothing." "What?" She answered. "Nothing." I replied. "If you would have put your down payment in a simple bundle of stocks, or even played the market, you would have made far, far more than in Toronto housing for the last ten years, eliminating the penultimate decade of today. Between 1989 and 2000 houses moved at less than the rate of inflation. *Nothing.*"
She looked at me, and just repeated, "housing is always a good investment, particularly today. Put an aggressive offer in for this house or walk away."
So I walked away. A few years later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, with nothing left but a crippled economy and a bad pantsuit, crumpled on the floor with peers all around.
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
Mr. Soak stepped out of his silver Mustang and looked up at his new home. A small house in the Victorian style, the previous owners had accepted an absurdly low offer for it, seemingly wishing to be rid of it as soon as possible. The house, though old, appeared to be in need of nothing more than minor repairs, much like its new owner. Soak, a slightly elderly man with silver hair, laugh lines around his blue eyes, and a slight limp, and his last name stitched in fine gold thread upon the lapel of his old, slightly faded gray suit approached the door.
Upon opening the main door, Soak was greeted by a narrow hallway containing a rather tacky etagere featuring a large round mirror against the left wall, and a door to the living room in the right wall. Upon crossing the threshold, the door behind him slammed shut and the lights flickered out. Soak turns to regard the door, then turns back to face the hallway.
"Alright, come on out," he calls out into the house. In response, a crack appears in the plaster at the end of the hall and begins slowly spreading towards him, as though an invisible nail was being dragged through it. Soak waited patiently as the line approached, now accompanied by large, clawed footprints in the plaster dust accumulating on the floor. When the line stopped less than a foot away from him, Soak took a deep breath.
Soak's hand shot out, grabbing something invisible directly in front of him. A startled yelp accompanies his fingers wrapping around an invisible throat. As he lifts the throat's owner off of the ground without apparent effort, it slowly becomes visible, revealing a moderately sized black demon with long claws and plaster dust-covered feet.
"I commend your efforts," Soak said, "but it was terribly unoriginal. I mean, really? Door slamming, lights flickering out, the old nail-in-the-plaster bit? You have to be more inventive than that. And you," he said, pointing behind the demon in his grasp. "Make yourself visible, observing multiple planes gives me a headache."
A second demon fizzled into visibility next to the lightswitch at the end of the hall, which it sheepishly stepped away from. "That's more like it. You two should be ashamed. Back in my day, demons had more skill than this amateur hour
bullshit. What are your names?"
The demon in his grasp croaked out "Aristophes."
"Steve." Said the one at the end of the hall.
"Steve. A demon named Steve." Soak closed his eyes and slowly sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Alright, whatever. Get out of my house, you two. You're lucky I'm retired."
Steve tilted his head slightly, and responded "And who do you think you are, ordering two demons around?"
Aristophes, whose attention had been caught by something in the mirror, immediately stopped struggling and began making frantic hand signals behind his back, trying to direct Steve's gaze to what he had seen: Soak's name. Or rather, the reflection of his name.
"Who am I?" Soak asked. His shadow seemed to rear up behind him, blotting out all light from the door's window. The demons' heads are filled with visions of fire, laughter, and horses. Then, all at once, the visions vanish, leaving only a slightly frail looking man dangling a demon by the throat in the hallway of an old home.
"I'm the one that left before the band got famous. I'm the original horseman, boys. My name is Kaos."
|
"No...no." I said.
The real estate agent came back with another offer. Houses in Toronto were going for far more these days. The market had gone bonkers. Just fucked. Up a few hundred percent since 9/11.
She mentioned that her sellers wanted more. *More.* There were multiple offers. I mean, it might have been a half-shack leaner, but it was a house. A *house.* And in actual Toronto, not that shit that we call Toronto these days. *Real* Toronto. In between the DVP, Eglington, and Jane. The actual, real, city.
"It's a place with good bones, a place to-"
I stopped her right there. "This house is falling apart. It's on a busy street. It's a fucking shithole and a deathtrap. Anyone who buys it will be in for at least a hundred thousand on aesthetic repairs alone, and fuck knows what we'll see when we open these walls. Aluminum wiring, asbestos, rot."
She continued, with that pathetic whine that only someone who failed into real estate can muster: "We need first and best, with a cheque for $100,000 stapled to."
I winced. These people can't be fucking serious. But, of course, they were. Too many idiots, too little housing stock. "Do you know how much housing appreciated in Toronto between 1989 and 2000?" She looked at me vacant. Eyes that held only a small amount of greed and little else. "Huh?" "Between 1989 and 2000. How much did houses appreciate in Toronto?" "Housing in Toronto has always been a good investment, and this property is particularly good in that regard."
Fuck. *Fuck.*
"Nothing." "What?" She answered. "Nothing." I replied. "If you would have put your down payment in a simple bundle of stocks, or even played the market, you would have made far, far more than in Toronto housing for the last ten years, eliminating the penultimate decade of today. Between 1989 and 2000 houses moved at less than the rate of inflation. *Nothing.*"
She looked at me, and just repeated, "housing is always a good investment, particularly today. Put an aggressive offer in for this house or walk away."
So I walked away. A few years later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, with nothing left but a crippled economy and a bad pantsuit, crumpled on the floor with peers all around.
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
From the moment I walked into this place, I felt home. Its interior filled with ancient furniture covered in yellowed plastic and musty carpets. The covered paintings with heavy drop sheets sealed the deal for me. It was an impressive place, and they were selling it for a song. The realtor was insistent that I check out some of the other places he had for sale. He claimed that they were more up to date with building codes but I had waved him with a briefcase full of money. That single briefcase held more than double the amount of money the house was selling for. But I didn't mind.
What I did mind was after the second week of moving in, the spirit that haunted the place showed herself. Her name was Cassandra, a young spirit who thought that she could scare me out of the house. Before this point, I had noticed that my guns had moved a few times, aiming themselves at me. Or knives tossed at my back. Anything she could do to attempt to kill me. But every time, I sensed her before she could actually get me. I would 'slip' and have the knife fly over my head without so much as harming a hair on my head. Or in the cases of the guns, they had biometric locks - advantages of my race's technology.
But when Cassandra showed herself to me after the two weeks of hell, she looked exhausted. Deadly tired, one could say. "What are you?" she asked me first, floating to the end of my bed and sitting on the corner. "You don't know? What's more powerful than any spirit?" I replied, sitting up and staring through shut eyes at her. Despite the fact she kept trying to kill me, this was the first time she had actually faced me. I couldn't let her know what I was immediately, or she would run. And in doing so, would defeat my entire purpose of being here.
"I don't know. You're not human, no human is ever that lucky. And a demon you are also not, despite you using our technology. No, nothing could survive as long as you have, unless you're something more than us." "Of course I am," I spoke to her, my voice as soft as the velvet bedsheets in which I lay. I opened my eyes now, revealing the blood red eyes behind my pale eyelids. The. As she looked me over, she gasped, before bowing. "Anubis in Nekuquar..." she spoke, now in awe. She stopped when she stared into my eyes, and realized who I was. The horror crept across her face as I smirked, before laughing. "My name is Hell Noire, but you can call me 'Hell'." I spoke as she cursed and cursed, now knowing who I was.
"If I had known it was you, Hell, I would have..."
"You would have never tried to strike me?"
"Well, no... I'm just so lonely, so scared here. So hungry here," the last part growled out, as if angry that she couldn't kill me. Expected, I thought to myself. Spirits would often emphasize the reason they hadn't come to us to go to the Afterlife. And with her emphasizing hunger, meant corruption in her soul. Not good for humanity, but an easy enough time for me... assuming she co-operated, of course.
"You've been feeding on the souls of the people that have lived here, Cassandra. Killing them just to eat. You know we can't allow that, and you know that's why I'm here," I spoke, reaching for the gun I had on my bedside table.
"And I won't let you take me, Hell Noire," she shrieked, erupting into a spiritual fireball. She succeed in blinding me for a moment, as I shielded my eyes. Instinct took over, as I rolled from the bed to the floor, grabbing my gun on the way down. I could feel it's heavy grip in my hand and I leveled it in front of me. While it looked like an old flintlock pistol, she shrieked in horror and tried to get away. She appeared to know exactly what it was and what exactly it did. With a small crack, the gun discharged, unleashing the payload into her non-corporeal body. As it tore though her, it sparked and shot out lightning bolts into her form. This would break down the energy that would be running though her, but only for a short time. Once though her, it fell to the ground, rolling now only due to it's spherical shape. It's momentum was no more, as she fell over. Paralyzed from the discharge of over a million volts through her.
I knew I had to act fast though. Now that she knew who I was, she knew she had to run away from me, for I was her end. I grabbed under the bed the package I had brought with me, and opened it with haste. Inside was a long, thin sword, silver in colour. Beautiful runes engraved on its hilt, and blade, all undecipherable to any human eye. But we both were not human, and we both knew what it did.
"Hell, have mercy on me," she begged, feeling her energy starting to return to her as she attempted to get away.
"You know the punishment for consuming human souls, Cassandra. And you know it's worse that you converted one into a Familiar. You know that we protect the humans and the demons now, and that this is only right." I spoke, standing now and wielding the heavy sword with my left hand. I swung it around a little bit as the runes started glowing. Instinctively, she covered her face, knowing she was too weak to run, and knew how I was going to use it.
"NOOOOOOooooooo...." she shrieked, as she attempted to stand, no doubt attempting to blind me again. This time, I slammed the blade though her form, slicing it clean in two. Exploding in a flash of light, she was no more, and my job here, completed. I placed the sword back into its case with the pistol next to it, and slipped both back under the bed. This time tomorrow, the house would be back on the market, now unpossessed for anyone to sell. Old and rickety, perhaps, but no worse for the wear. Humans could proclaim ghost stories about the place, but they'd be none the wiser about the truth. Her Familiar, the realtor who sold it to me would wake up tomorrow for the first time in several years. He'd be free at last from her control, but not remember a single thing about any of it. And, of course, it would be up to me to contact someone to sell this hellhole. Assuming I didn't want to be lazy and let the tax man grab it. Ah well, a job best left for tomorrow, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep again. And with that, the house settled without so much as a peep.
|
"Sir, I would implore you reconsider."
I glanced at the realtor, who was sweating profusely. Cute. A business man with more morals than greed. "You're not doing your job very well. I have already told you I'm going to take this house. When can I move in?"
"A..As you can see, it is empty. As soon as the contract is done, you may move in." He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. "Sir. This house is haunted. I showed it to you because it was vacant, but everyone who has lived in this house has either turned into a murderer or was found dead. I do not want a death on my hands."
"It's out of your hands, Mr. Cornelius. I'm running impatient. Sell me the house and begone." I looked at him coldly, and the nervous realtor nodded.
After all the business was done, I called the movers, and waited in the new home. I could feel the presence of the creatures that stalked the halls, and felt more than one set of eyes. I smiled softly at their arrogance.
There was a soft knock on the door, though I sensed no one outside of it. The demons were starting already. How childish. I ignored the knocking, instead deciding to patrol my new home. It was not a massive home, which was what I expected from the presence of such malicious spirits. And so many of them!
I walked upstairs slowly, and there were footsteps that I was not making made it sound like someone else was in the house. I ignored that too, and proceeded to the master bedroom. My mind tasted the hint of a presence, one I had not felt in some time.
"My old friend," I said softly. "It makes sense. You drew the others in." The presence disappeared, and I realized that he was never truly there. Perhaps he had once been, many years ago, with some poor sap.
The demons had had enough, and flashed a powerful illusion with their concerted powers, of blood on the walls, which were coming alive and forming the faces of the dead. I scoffed. There were no human souls here. Not yet, anyways.
I waved my hand with a bit of will, and the image faded. The demons panicked, and tried to move away. I held them in place with my will, muttering incantations under my breath to seal them forever.
They were young. Indeed, their essence had existed before time itself, but consciousness only came to them when my old friend had made contact here. As far as I knew, he barely came to the mortal realm. Including my own ascension, he had only appeared thrice, as far as I knew. I estimated their life, based on the age of the house, to be less than a hundred years old.
Pitiful.
Immediately, they fled. But they could not escape the house, and I laughed at their futility. I gave chase slowly, walking towards their presence, delighting in their fear. I invoked necromancy, and spirits, human victims of the demons, fueled by my power and their rage, trapped the demons from teleporting around the place. They ran as mortals from a creature beyond their reckoning. Me.
The eldest of them, the most powerful by far, led the others back downstairs, and I followed, my senses reaching out to best enjoy this moment. Cornered, the demons turned back to me and combined their powers one last time. I felt the push against me. It would have knocked a mortal man flat, possibly even kill him. I pushed back with my own will and collapsed their pitiable attempt.
"What is this?" the eldest demon cried, its voice echoing and haunting. "A mortal man, dominating us so?"
I grinned at it. "You have clearly never dealt with the likes of me. Very few have. What makes you believe I am mortal?"
The demon radiated confusion. "You are no kin of ours, creature. Neither are you a god. Are you an angel then, sent to punish us?"
I sneered. "I am no angel. You are not being punished. You are being consumed."
"Consumed?"
I breathed in their power, and they faltered momentarily. The powers I stole replenished quickly in them, and I felt like I had been handed a great gift. "You are hardly the most powerful demons I have encountered, but it is a delight that so many of you have gathered here. Perhaps I shall stay here much longer than I had initially anticipated. Your souls shall extend the expiry date on my own, and I will continue to be. Que sera, sera."
The eldest demon tried another lunge, only to fail again. Fear crept into its voice. "Who are you?"
"A man condemned to die." But never will.
|
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
"Got another story for us Tony?"
"Well Kev, you never know what you're gonna come across in my line of work, but you've gotta deal with everything you get thrown at you cause that's the only way you get paid. Take yesterday for example. I get the van and head up to this big house up the far side of Chester. Nice long drive that one. So I get up there, drive up to the gate, can't be later than 2 and it's pitch black out."
"Pitch black Tony?"
"Aye Kevin. Pitch black. Moonlight and everything."
"So what the hell did you do Tony?"
"My job o'course Kev. Not gonna let a few smoke and mirrors stop me from putting food on the table am I? Where was I?"
"It was pitch black Tony."
"Ah yeah, so it's pitch black, and then the gate opens on it's own. Pretty shoddy security if you ask me but never gonna moan about an easy day on the job. So I get up to the door, and I'm getting ready to use my big voice, you know the one I practiced for when we needed a bingo caller that one time, and a ghost sticks his head through the door."
"A ghost Tony?"
"Yeah Kev, a bloody ghost."
"What the hell do ya do in that situation Tony?"
"Well I showed him the Letter didn't I. Can't be letting him have the upper hand. Learned that on my first day of the job where..."
"You told us that one before Tony."
"I know Barry, I know. I swear, no appreciation for good storytelling you guys. Anyway, I show the ghost the Letter and he pales, goes whiter than he already was and he's like 'I'll go get the Master'."
"The Master Tony?"
"Yeah Kev, The Master. Far too pretty for a guy in my opinion, said something about being a vampire. I told him it didn't matter because he was 6 months overdue. He bows his head and Says he'll be out by Wednesday."
"Are you trying to tell me that not only did you meet a Vampire, you handed him his notice and he just skulked off Tony."
"Well Kev, you know how they always give in to a greater evil and all that Jazz. It's like Barry always says. Ain't no greater evil than private bailiffs. Which reminds me Barry. It's your round."
|
"Sir, I would implore you reconsider."
I glanced at the realtor, who was sweating profusely. Cute. A business man with more morals than greed. "You're not doing your job very well. I have already told you I'm going to take this house. When can I move in?"
"A..As you can see, it is empty. As soon as the contract is done, you may move in." He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. "Sir. This house is haunted. I showed it to you because it was vacant, but everyone who has lived in this house has either turned into a murderer or was found dead. I do not want a death on my hands."
"It's out of your hands, Mr. Cornelius. I'm running impatient. Sell me the house and begone." I looked at him coldly, and the nervous realtor nodded.
After all the business was done, I called the movers, and waited in the new home. I could feel the presence of the creatures that stalked the halls, and felt more than one set of eyes. I smiled softly at their arrogance.
There was a soft knock on the door, though I sensed no one outside of it. The demons were starting already. How childish. I ignored the knocking, instead deciding to patrol my new home. It was not a massive home, which was what I expected from the presence of such malicious spirits. And so many of them!
I walked upstairs slowly, and there were footsteps that I was not making made it sound like someone else was in the house. I ignored that too, and proceeded to the master bedroom. My mind tasted the hint of a presence, one I had not felt in some time.
"My old friend," I said softly. "It makes sense. You drew the others in." The presence disappeared, and I realized that he was never truly there. Perhaps he had once been, many years ago, with some poor sap.
The demons had had enough, and flashed a powerful illusion with their concerted powers, of blood on the walls, which were coming alive and forming the faces of the dead. I scoffed. There were no human souls here. Not yet, anyways.
I waved my hand with a bit of will, and the image faded. The demons panicked, and tried to move away. I held them in place with my will, muttering incantations under my breath to seal them forever.
They were young. Indeed, their essence had existed before time itself, but consciousness only came to them when my old friend had made contact here. As far as I knew, he barely came to the mortal realm. Including my own ascension, he had only appeared thrice, as far as I knew. I estimated their life, based on the age of the house, to be less than a hundred years old.
Pitiful.
Immediately, they fled. But they could not escape the house, and I laughed at their futility. I gave chase slowly, walking towards their presence, delighting in their fear. I invoked necromancy, and spirits, human victims of the demons, fueled by my power and their rage, trapped the demons from teleporting around the place. They ran as mortals from a creature beyond their reckoning. Me.
The eldest of them, the most powerful by far, led the others back downstairs, and I followed, my senses reaching out to best enjoy this moment. Cornered, the demons turned back to me and combined their powers one last time. I felt the push against me. It would have knocked a mortal man flat, possibly even kill him. I pushed back with my own will and collapsed their pitiable attempt.
"What is this?" the eldest demon cried, its voice echoing and haunting. "A mortal man, dominating us so?"
I grinned at it. "You have clearly never dealt with the likes of me. Very few have. What makes you believe I am mortal?"
The demon radiated confusion. "You are no kin of ours, creature. Neither are you a god. Are you an angel then, sent to punish us?"
I sneered. "I am no angel. You are not being punished. You are being consumed."
"Consumed?"
I breathed in their power, and they faltered momentarily. The powers I stole replenished quickly in them, and I felt like I had been handed a great gift. "You are hardly the most powerful demons I have encountered, but it is a delight that so many of you have gathered here. Perhaps I shall stay here much longer than I had initially anticipated. Your souls shall extend the expiry date on my own, and I will continue to be. Que sera, sera."
The eldest demon tried another lunge, only to fail again. Fear crept into its voice. "Who are you?"
"A man condemned to die." But never will.
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
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We needed our own place. I wasn't a bachelor any more, and Tomas and I were supposed to be married in a week. I'd lived at work for most of My life, which wasn't really all that bad... but I'm supposed to be a grownup now, with a mortal husband to care for and protect.
Getting Earth money was surprisingly hard. Any proper person exchanges souls, not money, for anything worthwhile. But I managed, thanks to a greedy and particularly orange politician. I don't think he's treating the soul particularly well, but I got a lot of money for it.
Oh, yeah... the house... Super good deal. It's a giant house on the east side of town. It sits on a hill and somehow attracts lightning 24-7. The local kids seem to be afraid of it, and I've let them see Me a couple of times. The running and shrieking is just adorable.
Will Tomas want kids someday? We'd have to adopt, of course. My children usually create apocalypses, and Tomas is a surprisingly gentle man.
Funny story: I was regaling this to Myself, out loud, and the walls practically started salivating at the mention of children. I mean, honestly. Eating children is *so* out of style these days. Addressing lesser creatures isn't done, of course. I mentioned, casually and out loud, that I'd be forced to redecorate if any harm came to a guest in My house. The house pretended to be normal for nearly a week. Hilarious.
Tomas, of course, fell in love with the house the moment he saw it. The house's demons were terrified of Me (as they should be), so they pamper Tomas as much as possible. I came home one night, masking my power, to hear Tomas arguing with them about the best way to mix an Old Fashioned.
We're going to be happy here, together. I just know it.
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I'm strolling through the noisy puddles, disgusted with the way the water feels in my shoes and the sound the rain makes. It's a thing that I bought this horrendous house. It will get me out of this rain, and that's all that matters: my comfort and gain.
As I enter this sad excuse for a structure, I spot the ragged front door lying on the shredded couch and I feel like puking. This is no home for someone as powerful as I.
I hear the sad sobs of a little girl echoing behind me. Any average pest would be chilled to the bone, I can tell, but this creature is messing with a pissed me. As I turn and see the pale figure of a pre-teen rush towards my face, screaming, I grab it by the throat and thunder my annoyance at it.
**I've spent five minutes in the soaking rain, I enter my new, pathetic home, and this is how I'm treated.**
###I'm the demon of envy, bitch. Go haunt someone else's pissing bowl.
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
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Mr. Soak stepped out of his silver Mustang and looked up at his new home. A small house in the Victorian style, the previous owners had accepted an absurdly low offer for it, seemingly wishing to be rid of it as soon as possible. The house, though old, appeared to be in need of nothing more than minor repairs, much like its new owner. Soak, a slightly elderly man with silver hair, laugh lines around his blue eyes, and a slight limp, and his last name stitched in fine gold thread upon the lapel of his old, slightly faded gray suit approached the door.
Upon opening the main door, Soak was greeted by a narrow hallway containing a rather tacky etagere featuring a large round mirror against the left wall, and a door to the living room in the right wall. Upon crossing the threshold, the door behind him slammed shut and the lights flickered out. Soak turns to regard the door, then turns back to face the hallway.
"Alright, come on out," he calls out into the house. In response, a crack appears in the plaster at the end of the hall and begins slowly spreading towards him, as though an invisible nail was being dragged through it. Soak waited patiently as the line approached, now accompanied by large, clawed footprints in the plaster dust accumulating on the floor. When the line stopped less than a foot away from him, Soak took a deep breath.
Soak's hand shot out, grabbing something invisible directly in front of him. A startled yelp accompanies his fingers wrapping around an invisible throat. As he lifts the throat's owner off of the ground without apparent effort, it slowly becomes visible, revealing a moderately sized black demon with long claws and plaster dust-covered feet.
"I commend your efforts," Soak said, "but it was terribly unoriginal. I mean, really? Door slamming, lights flickering out, the old nail-in-the-plaster bit? You have to be more inventive than that. And you," he said, pointing behind the demon in his grasp. "Make yourself visible, observing multiple planes gives me a headache."
A second demon fizzled into visibility next to the lightswitch at the end of the hall, which it sheepishly stepped away from. "That's more like it. You two should be ashamed. Back in my day, demons had more skill than this amateur hour
bullshit. What are your names?"
The demon in his grasp croaked out "Aristophes."
"Steve." Said the one at the end of the hall.
"Steve. A demon named Steve." Soak closed his eyes and slowly sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Alright, whatever. Get out of my house, you two. You're lucky I'm retired."
Steve tilted his head slightly, and responded "And who do you think you are, ordering two demons around?"
Aristophes, whose attention had been caught by something in the mirror, immediately stopped struggling and began making frantic hand signals behind his back, trying to direct Steve's gaze to what he had seen: Soak's name. Or rather, the reflection of his name.
"Who am I?" Soak asked. His shadow seemed to rear up behind him, blotting out all light from the door's window. The demons' heads are filled with visions of fire, laughter, and horses. Then, all at once, the visions vanish, leaving only a slightly frail looking man dangling a demon by the throat in the hallway of an old home.
"I'm the one that left before the band got famous. I'm the original horseman, boys. My name is Kaos."
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I'm strolling through the noisy puddles, disgusted with the way the water feels in my shoes and the sound the rain makes. It's a thing that I bought this horrendous house. It will get me out of this rain, and that's all that matters: my comfort and gain.
As I enter this sad excuse for a structure, I spot the ragged front door lying on the shredded couch and I feel like puking. This is no home for someone as powerful as I.
I hear the sad sobs of a little girl echoing behind me. Any average pest would be chilled to the bone, I can tell, but this creature is messing with a pissed me. As I turn and see the pale figure of a pre-teen rush towards my face, screaming, I grab it by the throat and thunder my annoyance at it.
**I've spent five minutes in the soaking rain, I enter my new, pathetic home, and this is how I'm treated.**
###I'm the demon of envy, bitch. Go haunt someone else's pissing bowl.
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
The real estate agent couldn't get out of my new house fast enough. Understandable considering she couldn't move the property for nearly a year with the papers calling it a "truly haunted house". Poor thing even tried to warn me about an evil presence in the house. It took everything in my being to keep from cracking a grin as she kept asking if I was sure I wanted to move my family here...my family was already here.
The real estate agent, after some convincing, finally left with the signed papers. I closed the door behind her, clicked the lock, and leaned into the door. "Kids come out, come out wherever you are", I called around the house. Those little demons weren't shy when it came to the previous ten tenants. They were responsible for two suicides, a murder, and numerous commitments. And now they were hiding. They knew they had drawn too much attention and knew why I bought the house.
I wandered around the house aimlessly. The rooms were still staged to be sold. I went to the kitchen first. There was a cheap bottle of wine on the counter and I polished it off. I could feel their eyes watching me. Punishing them would be too easy. Destroying them even easier. Both were too easy on them. Constant fear. That's what I would do.
I picked up the wine bottle by the neck and smashed it against the new granite countertop. The house shuddered. I kicked the glass around the tile floor, "I put you to create monsters, not to kill them". Those idiots had one job to do: tempt the human inhabitants to become evil. All they had to do was put some ideas into their heads and let the humans damage the world themselves. Instead the demons I let lose in this house started enacting the evil themselves. The young are always short sighted.
I moved from the kitchen to the dining room. The low hanging light fixture above the table shivered. I knew to really drive the message home I'd have to make an example of one of them. I reached inside my suit pocket and retrieved my pocket watch. I took a seat at the head of the table and pointed to chair opposite of me, "In thirty seconds, I want the ring leader sitting in that chair". A mob of whispers filled my ears.
"Ten, nine, eight..." and a wisp of gray smoke found its way to the chair. I snapped my watch shut as the wisp took on the form of a child. She sat with a smile that almost looked innocent, but I could feel the fear behind the mask. "Of all the demons I left here to corrupt the humans, Ambition is the one that betrays me" I said to our hidden audience. She countered with her usual excuse, "I had bigger plans". "And now you have none", with a snap of my fingers I turned the girl into ash. I pulled out my box and swept the little pile of ash into it.
I moved the show into the living room. Every item in the house was shaking. They were definitely scared and quite frankly they should be. My wife is something to be feared. I have created them, but I wasn't the highest in command. I sat down on the couch and announced, "I could have done this without buying the house, but Mother has other plans for you and she'll be here soon".
I laid back and closed my eyes. The mob of fearful whispers had changed to fits of terrified screams. I could feel the wisps of smoke flying around the house. Not long after I closed my eyes there was a knock at the door. The house fell still, Mother was home.
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I'm strolling through the noisy puddles, disgusted with the way the water feels in my shoes and the sound the rain makes. It's a thing that I bought this horrendous house. It will get me out of this rain, and that's all that matters: my comfort and gain.
As I enter this sad excuse for a structure, I spot the ragged front door lying on the shredded couch and I feel like puking. This is no home for someone as powerful as I.
I hear the sad sobs of a little girl echoing behind me. Any average pest would be chilled to the bone, I can tell, but this creature is messing with a pissed me. As I turn and see the pale figure of a pre-teen rush towards my face, screaming, I grab it by the throat and thunder my annoyance at it.
**I've spent five minutes in the soaking rain, I enter my new, pathetic home, and this is how I'm treated.**
###I'm the demon of envy, bitch. Go haunt someone else's pissing bowl.
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
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The man leaned on his shovel and gazed at his ragged heap of a home. The shutters were leaning at an odd angle, the door was painted a strangely bright shade of pea-soup green, and ghosts infested every square inch, creating a shimmery-silvery-wavering sheen over the entire structure. The man threw his shovel into the garden, and walked up to the door.
---
The ghosts murmured to each other. They didn't know what to do, how to react to being ignored. They watched the man shuffle around his kitchen, sweeping a dust-laden floor and maneuvering around the hellish spirit screaming in his face. Never looking directly at her, but never running the broom over her clawed feet. He hummed, and the ghosts murmured.
---
The man cleaned his ramshackle house. He wiped down the ancient end tables left by some unfortunate past owner, and set a painting of his brothers down on the now-clean wood. He stood for a moment, reminiscing, then turned to search for a clean rag. He cleaned, and the ghosts whispered.
---
They grew bolder over time. One sprite plucked at the mans hair, while another pulled strategic threads from his clothes, ripping them to pieces without ever being noticed. They didn't touch his skin. They had tried, but the burning fingers they wrapped around his wrist charred and fell to the ground as fine, soft ash. The man didn't notice. The man flipped the pages of his bible, and chuckled softly at the stories within. He read, and the ghosts grew restless.
---
The man stroked his beard and thought about a pet. Something useful. He had considered a goat or a lamb, but the memories associated with those particular possibilities were unsavory. He would just cut the grass himself. A dog, perhaps. Maybe a chicken. Eggs sounded nice, he thought. Maybe two chickens. The ghosts watched him stare into space, and they seethed.
---
One reached her breaking point. She gathered all the energy she could muster, and swept through the man, an action that had killed the previous three owners of the cursed home. The man shivered. The ghost shimmered, cracked, and fell as a fine dust, blown away before she reached the floor.
---
The man picked up his bible, turned, and walked to his bedroom, kissing his fingers and touching the painting of his brothers. He set the book down on the nightstand, open to an early page, and laid down. One curious creature crept up to see what the man had been reading. She read, flinched, and slinked out of the room as quietly as she could.
---
Genesis 4:15 - Therefore whoever harms Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold.
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I'm strolling through the noisy puddles, disgusted with the way the water feels in my shoes and the sound the rain makes. It's a thing that I bought this horrendous house. It will get me out of this rain, and that's all that matters: my comfort and gain.
As I enter this sad excuse for a structure, I spot the ragged front door lying on the shredded couch and I feel like puking. This is no home for someone as powerful as I.
I hear the sad sobs of a little girl echoing behind me. Any average pest would be chilled to the bone, I can tell, but this creature is messing with a pissed me. As I turn and see the pale figure of a pre-teen rush towards my face, screaming, I grab it by the throat and thunder my annoyance at it.
**I've spent five minutes in the soaking rain, I enter my new, pathetic home, and this is how I'm treated.**
###I'm the demon of envy, bitch. Go haunt someone else's pissing bowl.
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|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
The man leaned on his shovel and gazed at his ragged heap of a home. The shutters were leaning at an odd angle, the door was painted a strangely bright shade of pea-soup green, and ghosts infested every square inch, creating a shimmery-silvery-wavering sheen over the entire structure. The man threw his shovel into the garden, and walked up to the door.
---
The ghosts murmured to each other. They didn't know what to do, how to react to being ignored. They watched the man shuffle around his kitchen, sweeping a dust-laden floor and maneuvering around the hellish spirit screaming in his face. Never looking directly at her, but never running the broom over her clawed feet. He hummed, and the ghosts murmured.
---
The man cleaned his ramshackle house. He wiped down the ancient end tables left by some unfortunate past owner, and set a painting of his brothers down on the now-clean wood. He stood for a moment, reminiscing, then turned to search for a clean rag. He cleaned, and the ghosts whispered.
---
They grew bolder over time. One sprite plucked at the mans hair, while another pulled strategic threads from his clothes, ripping them to pieces without ever being noticed. They didn't touch his skin. They had tried, but the burning fingers they wrapped around his wrist charred and fell to the ground as fine, soft ash. The man didn't notice. The man flipped the pages of his bible, and chuckled softly at the stories within. He read, and the ghosts grew restless.
---
The man stroked his beard and thought about a pet. Something useful. He had considered a goat or a lamb, but the memories associated with those particular possibilities were unsavory. He would just cut the grass himself. A dog, perhaps. Maybe a chicken. Eggs sounded nice, he thought. Maybe two chickens. The ghosts watched him stare into space, and they seethed.
---
One reached her breaking point. She gathered all the energy she could muster, and swept through the man, an action that had killed the previous three owners of the cursed home. The man shivered. The ghost shimmered, cracked, and fell as a fine dust, blown away before she reached the floor.
---
The man picked up his bible, turned, and walked to his bedroom, kissing his fingers and touching the painting of his brothers. He set the book down on the nightstand, open to an early page, and laid down. One curious creature crept up to see what the man had been reading. She read, flinched, and slinked out of the room as quietly as she could.
---
Genesis 4:15 - Therefore whoever harms Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold.
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It remains unclear to me what, exactly, the purpose of bequeathing me this crumbling, archaic, ramshackled hut was, but cultists are never very bright.
These human structures littered the world from one continent to the next since time amorphus. Apparently. I wouldn't know, having been sleeping in my city for the past few millenia.
The world was also "under New management" so to speak. Yahweh or something they, the humans, called it. Not that the pitiful machinations of an antidilvulian cult were worthy of note.
But I digress, the present situation perplexed me slightly, which in truth is the crux of the matter. This "house" I procured from a Mr. Marsh, a long time faithful of mine, and who's body I currently wear, seems to have had been subject to the inadvertent summoning of some of "Yahweh's" unruly daemoniac offspring into the archaic structure.
At first their attempts to frighten or extort me for my soul proved a source of entertainment. The novelty soon wore off. All it took was one brief flash of my true, gibbous, one would even dare to say cyclopean nature, and the creatures broke down into a babbling mass of hysterics and hollering.
Perhaps I'll lease this as a rental property and return to R'yleh. It's like the old saying goes; " Uulwi ifis halahs gag erh'ongg w'ssh."
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
"Hey Shawn."
"What?"
"The realtor lady's taking the sign down."
"Someone bought the house?"
"No, she just decided the sign should be moved three inches to the left. Yes she sold the house you idiot! The game is afoot!"
"Don't call me an idiot, ¥ahivkn." Shawn's voice had tone of warning in it.
"Okay, okay, sorry Mr. Touchy."
____________________________________________
The next week an old man approached the house. Unlike others he carried no luggage and was followed by no trucks.
The ghosts and demons within the house assumed their usual positions. They would have to be subtle, allowing the old man to settle in before showing any of their cards. Ideally they would drive the man insane before they killed him. Fracturing his soul enough that he would join their ranks when he died, withdrawing even that last escape.
He walked slowly up to the door and entered without incident. He took his time exploring the rooms. Examining each carefully he ran a withered finger over a seam in the wallpaper and gave himself a secret smile.
Andrew, the ghost the old man had just unknowingly molested, gave ¥ahivkn a disgusted look. The demon paid no attention to the overly sensitive dead man, all of his attention was fixed on the visitor who was mumbling to himself.
"A pity," he said. "I wish Lucy could be here to see this. A disgrace to our name it is, calling this place haunted" The old man snorted in contempt.
Andrew stepped forward, an ill gleam in his eye and a smirk on his face. The old man would soon learn the truth behind the rumors he discounted so easily.
¥ahivkn held him back with one arm hissing, "Don't." Shawn looked at ¥ahivkn confused.
The old man chuckled.
The spirits ignored him, until he said something that left made them prick up their rotting ears.
"Oh, ¥ahivkn the centuries have left you more cautious than I remember."
No one dared move a finger.
"Who are you?" asked ¥ahivkn. "You cloak yourself to well to be a man."
"Come now my boy," said the old man, "surely you remember your grandfather?" He turned toward ¥ahivkn, his eyes flashing as red and alive as coals in a fire, and as he did he grew. His back burst through his shirt, scarred and muscled with years of torture. Whether as the torturer or tortured no one ever dared to ask. The flash melted off his fingers, burning holes in the weathered floor, and his bones swelled and burst open. New bloody sinews curled and twisted, forming larger hands from which harsh and deadly claws erupted.
"€luthakra, grandfather, οδυνηρέ, right hand of the rightful king and commander of his spies," ¥ahivkn knelt and placed his hand above where a heart would be if he were human, "Hail." The demon was was trembling. The monster in front of him was famed. He had torn the heir to the throne limb from limb and not been punished for fear of what he might do. He had tortured his closest friends to try their loyalty. He had sired a thousand daughters and sons, and consumed all who showed themselves to be weak. Over four hundred had failed him already.
€luthakra smiled slowly, revealing jagged teeth that gleamed with a deadly edge. "So tell me of this game of yours."
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Escrow just closed! It's mine. Oh yeah!
Perhaps I should rethink this. The lady next door says it's haunted. Just haunted?! Nah, it'll be fine. Maybe I'll feel better if I have a Slim Jim.
First night, utter crap. There was nothing. I wore my favorite shorts, the lucky ones that always attract the supernatural. But no response.
Second night. Definitely something. Smelled brimstone, it's probably a mid-level demonic beast.
Third night. It manifested. The foot of my bed burst into flames, blood poured out of the closet, and the hell-beast came forth, no doubt intending to eat mild-mannered Joe Carpenter's skinny body. And that is when I struck. I burst from my host Joe's body like a glorious barbarian of old, or maybe those funky aliens from that one movie, flexing my mighty muscles and shouting my eldritch war cry. Needless to say, the demon was paralyzed with fear. I ate it.
On cold nights, when you feel the monsters of the dark nipping your heels, you know how to call upon me, the root of all that is baneful and masculine. Just snap into a Slim Jim, and with a thunderous "OH YEAH" I will enter your pitiful reality. That which does not die eternal will forever sleep, something something, until death itself shall something, whatever. OH YEAH!
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
The owner was desperate to sell the house and he was selling it dirt cheap, he'd taken me on a guided tour of the place and it looked like a bomb hit it. To the untrained eye it would look like the low price was because of the house's absolutely derelict state, but I knew what to look for, the damage was recently done over a short space of time, he'd probably wrecked the place himself to avoid any questions about why he was selling so cheap. Standing in the living room drinking in all the ethereal energies was what had made me buy the place, after all, it's not every day I come across a place this genuinely haunted, even rarer that the owner was so desperate to get rid of the place, it got me curious.
Staying in there my first night was an interesting experience, my mortal vessel needed to rest but me being what I am I had no such need, I released my fleshy shell into unconsciousness and connected with all the nodes of energy I could feel around the house, it was a bit like astral projection but for elder gods. From my connection to all the nodes I could study them and all the beings connected to them, it was quite fascinating. Each node I discovered was a portal to Hell, or rather they were all the SAME portal to Hell. Not even that, it would be more accurate to say that each node was a PIECE of Hell, such that being at one node put you at all the nodes at once including that point in Hell, I hadn't seen one of these for a very long time. Hell wasn't the only realm capable of forming an overlap conduit but it was the only one with enough gall to, not because of their natural strength but because they never stopped to think.
A realm so full of power was like a box with massive internal gas pressure, opening an overflow conduit was like drilling a small hole in that box, letting some of the pressure out, opening so many released a lot of that pressure, except it wasn't pressurised gas, it was the raw, infernal force of Hell itself, essentially what was pouring out of those nodes was everything Hell could manufacture in potentia, not only that but on the other side there was only one node, so all that pressure was being released through one point, essentially meaning that what arrived here as a multitude of breezes was leaving Hell as a single gale force wind. If they weren't careful they were going to completely stabilise their realm but destroy it in the process.
Twitch
And of course they couldn't resist.
The raw waves of hellfire bleeding through into this world were manifesting themselves as beings that thought themselves primordial, foolish creatures, when the greatest of their demons were in infancy my kind were the myths they feared. My kind are the reason the other realms dare not leave their realm, for fear of angering us. If the power in a realm is like pressure in a box and Hell is like a helium balloon then my realm is like an exploding nuclear bomb, a tiny scratch at the walls between my world and theirs would be enough to completely eviscerate their world and hundreds behind it. What the demons that were materialising considered acts of creation and ancient spells I considered simple parlour tricks.
Not that I would tell them so of course.
My vessel was full of Hell energy, no doubt if I used it while it was unconscious I would be experiencing a sort of inverse astral projection humans call a nightmare, where the consciousness rather than ascending past the restrictions of the physical body is actually repressed deeper to a state of complete inability to actuate, being allowed only to perceive what it is given, often by a small minded demon.
While the demons scrambled about inside my vessel trying to find a consciousness to torment I took the opportunity to seal up their exits, when they found no psyche they began to fear something heinous afoot and rushed to escape, but finding no way out, just as a human would find no way to get their mind out of their body, except by astral projection of course, but that required the vessel to be left empty. When a soul tries to leave a body the body will revert to a state in which its primary functions occur automatically, such as heart beating and cells respiring, one such function is to not let the spirit out, however releasing the spirit also functions like taking the body's battery out, so it's generally of no consequence. In this case however there were many demons inside the body, if one were to try and leave then the body would prevent it and only one could attempt to leave at a time.
My vessel opened its mouth and eyes and screamed with a demonic, feral noise. All the Hell energy in the house found its way to the room we were in, I took the opportunity to connect to all the nodes in the house and seal them up, blocking their escape back to their home. The demons arrived to find my vessel with its head in its hands flailing wildly and screaming "Get us out!" To which they had no response. They all looked about warily, aware that something more powerful than themselves was in control. Suddenly all the lights in the house went out.
Green flames began in the corners of the room and stretched quickly across the walls until the whole room was cloaked in eldritch fire. It amused me as I heard one of them ask, panicked "Which one of you is doing that?" Suddenly my vessels eyes burst into green flame and the demons inside screamed, the ones without watched in horror as the flesh combusted and was torn apart, peeling from the bone and collapsing into ash, destroying the entities possessing it. I suddenly put out all the eldritch fire around the room and burst into being in the fireplace in a torrent of lime green flames, my vessel entirely reconstructed. I stood silhouetted against the light and stared at the remaining demons. Only one word escaped my lips, "Run".
They wasted no time in evaporating and fleeing to wherever would get them furthest from me. The lesser beings were fools if they thought I couldn't find them if I'd wanted to, my kind are the true primordial beings, there at the beginning, responsible for everything. Every realm is the work of one of us, I created this universe personally.
My name is Jahveh and I personally destroyed my home realm, wiping out 98% of all realities in the process, I did say it was like a nuclear bomb among balloons. I am one of a hundred remaining elder gods.
And I will be the last.
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Escrow just closed! It's mine. Oh yeah!
Perhaps I should rethink this. The lady next door says it's haunted. Just haunted?! Nah, it'll be fine. Maybe I'll feel better if I have a Slim Jim.
First night, utter crap. There was nothing. I wore my favorite shorts, the lucky ones that always attract the supernatural. But no response.
Second night. Definitely something. Smelled brimstone, it's probably a mid-level demonic beast.
Third night. It manifested. The foot of my bed burst into flames, blood poured out of the closet, and the hell-beast came forth, no doubt intending to eat mild-mannered Joe Carpenter's skinny body. And that is when I struck. I burst from my host Joe's body like a glorious barbarian of old, or maybe those funky aliens from that one movie, flexing my mighty muscles and shouting my eldritch war cry. Needless to say, the demon was paralyzed with fear. I ate it.
On cold nights, when you feel the monsters of the dark nipping your heels, you know how to call upon me, the root of all that is baneful and masculine. Just snap into a Slim Jim, and with a thunderous "OH YEAH" I will enter your pitiful reality. That which does not die eternal will forever sleep, something something, until death itself shall something, whatever. OH YEAH!
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
I'll never forget the day I saw the devil, proof of God, proof of my faith, the day I lost my faith.
I'd been an exorcist for decades. It's a catholic sinecure for priests with no real future as parish leaders or higher up the chain. Mostly alcoholics or scholarly types (so much crossover between those two noble modes of being) but you always meet a few true exorcists. True believers. Men who expect to meet the devil someday and spend their waking hours in prayer or study or meditation, screwing their will to the wall in preparation for the unimaginable, and every four years at the convention in Rome they stand together in the corner, drinking and looking very intently at each other while they spin wild tales of devil worshipers in the frozen forests of Russia or cannibals that never sleep in the south pacific. Yes, we have a convention. Like printer salesmen.
Last year was the same as always, the true believers drinking together and scowling determinedly. I went to say hello to one with whom I'd had some engaging conversation at the last one. Two were talking in whispers until they saw me, then they stopped, staring intently with the tired and sunken eyes of men who spend their lives in books, in dark corners of the world, and who sleep less than they should and drink considerably more.
I started to speak to my acquaintance and we were engaging the usual pleasantries and starting to move onto rugby (a mutual topic of interest, Go Springboks!) when the taller of the two whisperers leaned over and asked my name. I started at his intrusion, then politely told him and wished him good cheer. He asked me if I worked in America, in New York, which of course I did. My work takes me across New England and the Atlantic states, which I told him. He looked at me with a gaze I could not penetrate. His cohort asked if I ever worked in the Hudson Valley. Near Phoenicia? No, I said, never.
They both smiled and wished us a good evening, then returned to an alcove to whisper intently.
The rest of the convention was banal. Three absurd seminars, one by the tall inquisitor from the first evening, all depicting medieval sounding encounters with devils of one kind or another. At one point two experts began yelling at each other over which demon had been encountered based on the evidence, the one demanding they march down to the library and sort it out in the original greek, the other damning his eyes for not seeing the obvious (in order to disguise his total lack of greek, or latin for that matter). I yawned and left, flying home through Newark the next morning and returning to my rooms.
Two days later the Archbishop called my cellphone and asked me if I'd ever been to the Hudson Valley, near Phoenicia.
================================
I walked into the Archbishop's office and he asked me to sit. He wrung his hands, furrowed his brow, began to speak but stopped, then again. He asked me how I liked being an exorcist. Fine, I said. It was true enough. He asked me if I'd had any successful exorcisms. I told him I had, which was true in a way. They were all really psychological problems and one was just a teenager with an overprotective mother. That one was solved by a made-up ceremony with great fanfare and a quiet chat with the teen to just hold it together in front of mom until she was old enough to leave, just stop getting caught.
He chuckled, frowned, leaned back. He held my gaze for a full minute, then smiled. He handed me a folder and pointed to the door.
Go with God, he said as the door closed behind me.
I read through the first few pages of the report in the Lyft back to New Jersey, courtesy of the archdiocese. Before we'd gotten to the tunnel I told him to stop and take me to Penn Station. By lunchtime I was on the Metro North, by supper I was on a bus to the Catskills. To Phoenicia.
=====================================
I read the report a dozen times on the train, another four on the bus. It was fantastic. An old stone house in the mountains, about a mile and a half from an abandoned hotel that burned down, it had for years been on the church's radar. The stories were downright silly. Drums on the ridge, strange fires at night, chanting and singing and demonic rituals. The photos said it all. There was graffiti and broken beer bottles everywhere. This is really all exorcists do, investigate the superstitious claims of prudish parishioners. They all know it's just teenagers up there, but they miss being young and they don't see why everyone else should have all the fun.
But the teenagers also talked about strange things happening. People wandering off and showing up at dawn, cold and scared but with no memory of having wandered in the woods all night. Drugs, probably.
They also talked about lights in the forest, red lamps and low growls, scrapes and chanting. Lights that move faster than people should be able to. Probably hikers, though. There are hiking trails all over those mountains, and lots of people go on night hikes or thru hikes. Mountain bikes too, probably. At night though? Some must, I suppose.
And then there were the disappearances. Five. In a year. 1998. Two women, three men, one every week for five weeks. Nobody knew anything was happening until the third disappearance, then a search party member was lost, then a woman looking for her dog the week after. None of them were ever seen again, no remains were ever found.
And two days before the Archbishop called me, a jogger went missing with her dog. She jogged that route every morning, it took less than an hour to complete, and she would never have been more than a few hundred yards from the nearest road. There were a lot of other hikers and joggers that morning. Nobody saw anything, heard anything, or remembered anything unusual. The week before, a park ranger had gone missing while walking the trails. Just as he'd been doing for decades.
This was interesting. A serial killer? A group? A coincidence? Who knows. What was obvious was that nobody but the church, certainly not the tiny police force in Phoenicia, had made a connection yet, and despite their superstitiousness and general misanthropy, rural catholics would jump at the chance to go out into the woods with a bona fide exorcist and hunt a demon, or whatever, and hopefully just dissuade whoever this was from doing it again. Or at least hassle the sheriff enough to do it himself. Church folk squeak a lot.
I arrived in the center of town around 9pm and found the whole community standing in front of the supermarket, half of them armed. A young man saw me get off the bus and drew me aside, asking me if I wouldn't mind stepping off the street before the crowd saw my collar. We walked into a shop across the street where he introduced me to a middle aged woman, a realtor.
======================================
The realtor explained to me, quickly and nervously, that the house was for sale, that she couldn't legally stop anyone from buying it, and that it was all too late, too late, the wire transfer went through, and while the deed hadn't actually been signed, it was all done. I had no idea what she was talking about, and told her. She looked at me blankly, then at the young man. She was furious. Didn't I know who owned this house now? The Church. It was being sold with a lot of other properties to pay for settlements in the state of NY thanks to some of my more degenerate brothers, and the failure of their leaders to do anything about it.
I couldn't argue, the state was right, the church was wrong, I'm glad the land will go to use. She stared at me, wide eyed, as if I were speaking in tongues.
The Church owned it. Now they don't, she said. Then spun and walked to the door, her hands in fists, her steps determined, her shoulders tense, like a cat.
I turned to the young man and asked him who owned the house now?
I do, he said.
======================================
He was medium height, medium build, not particularly athletic, with a friendly face and a smile that stopped before it reached his eyes. He stared through me, like an old photograph from Life when those grizzled young marines walked off Iwo Jima, like a meth addict in a booking photo, like a doll. I asked him what he planned to do with the house. Go there, he said. When, I asked. Now.
With that he turned and walked out the main door of the house. He crossed the street halfway. The crowd, which moments ago had been talking loudly and angrily, which had been drawing up energy from that hot air like a hurricane, increasing in strength and unpredictability, becoming a mob, they now turned towards us, utterly silent. I think half of them were actually holding their breath.
The young man stopped before crossing the yellow lines and stood, arms akimbo. Some men began walking towards him, one pointed his rifle, but he looked nervous. The young man spoke softly, but everyone heard him clearly.
I'm going for a walk. I'd like you all to stay here.
With that, he spun and walked down the road and began crossing the bridge. I followed him, looking nervously back at the crowd. They looked terrified, but they didn't follow. The men with guns looked around sheepishly and awkwardly cradled their rifles and shotguns as if they were waiting their turn at skeet.
=====================================
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Escrow just closed! It's mine. Oh yeah!
Perhaps I should rethink this. The lady next door says it's haunted. Just haunted?! Nah, it'll be fine. Maybe I'll feel better if I have a Slim Jim.
First night, utter crap. There was nothing. I wore my favorite shorts, the lucky ones that always attract the supernatural. But no response.
Second night. Definitely something. Smelled brimstone, it's probably a mid-level demonic beast.
Third night. It manifested. The foot of my bed burst into flames, blood poured out of the closet, and the hell-beast came forth, no doubt intending to eat mild-mannered Joe Carpenter's skinny body. And that is when I struck. I burst from my host Joe's body like a glorious barbarian of old, or maybe those funky aliens from that one movie, flexing my mighty muscles and shouting my eldritch war cry. Needless to say, the demon was paralyzed with fear. I ate it.
On cold nights, when you feel the monsters of the dark nipping your heels, you know how to call upon me, the root of all that is baneful and masculine. Just snap into a Slim Jim, and with a thunderous "OH YEAH" I will enter your pitiful reality. That which does not die eternal will forever sleep, something something, until death itself shall something, whatever. OH YEAH!
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
"Well it could be worse."
Lord Hound stood in front of his new property. His last house burnt down after an accident involving his Luger, fire, and too much whiskey, and as such, he was forced to rather hastily purchase a new one.
"I very much doubt it, Hound, I'm fairly sure the roof is caving in." And then, as if to emphasize his point, one of the slate tiles slid off the roof, narrowly missing a passing raven.
"Please, I'm a thaumaturge, Hastings," he said, flourishing his bony hands "fixing this place up is child's play."
"I don't think there's any fixing up how bloody evil this place looks." He gestured to the surrounding woodland. Mist clung to the ground, and from it sprung grey trees, bent and crooked, much like the manor that they surrounded. "I mean, it wouldn't exactly be great for your image to be caught living in an actual haunted house."
"It's not haunted."
"The last 3 owners died under 'Mysterious circumstances' didn't they?"
"I don't think it's exactly mysterious when they were all over the age of 90."
"In our line of work, I'd be surprised if it was just ghosts." Hastings said, waving off Hound's last comment "Should we take a look inside?" Hound nodded in assent, and the two took off, further into the downright evil looking grounds.
________________________________________________________________
The door slowly slid open, revealing the inside of the manor.
"Well, the inside looks as shit as the outside." Hastings stepped through the door first, passing the threshold, and stood in the room, marveling at the sheer quantity of dust that filled the air.
"Oh have some faith" Hound ducked as he passed under the door "With some work, this place would look quite nice, I'm sure." The door slammed with a thunk that seemed to reverberate through the house.
"Christ, Hound, what did the door ever do to you?"
"I..." Hound stammered, turning towards the now shut door "I didn't shut it."
"I told you this place was haunted"
"That's idiotic, it was probably just... pressure, or something."
"Yeah, you keep believing that Hound, but I sure as hell won't be coming for sleepovers." He ran his finger across the top of a mirror, removing at least an inch of dust "At least not without my gun." He muttered under his breath.
"Oh don't you start shooting. I don't want to patch up bits of wall before I've even moved in"
"Honestly, I think a little hole would be the least of your problems."
"YOUR GUN DOESN'T LEAVE LITTLE HOLES, YOU BELLEND!"
"Oh fine. I promise I won't shoot the ghosts when they try and rip out what's left of your soul. Or whatever it is that ghosts do."
"I keep telling you, there aren't any ghosts." Hound said, smoothing back his hair, as if doing so would help him regain his composure. He walked past the stairs, trailing his hands along the banister, before opening the door at the end of the hallway. "Oh bollocks."
"What?"
"There's a ghost."
Hastings face flashed from confusion, to fear, before finally resting on impossibly smug.
"I told you there'd be ghosts."
"Oh shut up."
Hastings pushed past Hound, staring through the doorway that led into the kitchen. And just as Hound had said, there, at the dining table in the middle of the room, sat a ghost. A pale white, translucent little girl sat at the dining table, her head down against the green painted wood, her hair stringy and thin, and her ragged clothes sat against her impossibly bony frame.
"I TOLD you there'd be ghosts." Hastings said, before Hound cuffed him round the head, earning him an angry stare "Don't get angry at me because you bought a shit house filled with ghosts. I mean not that it's that big of a deal, but it's a-"
"Seriously?" The ghost lying on the table now sat upright, looking at the two men in the doorway incredulously. "You walk into the evil old manor, through the twisting trees, past the crowing birds, and into the heart of the haunted house, you find a ghost, and your only response is 'It's not that big of a deal'?" The exasperated ghost stood, now almost yelling, or at least as close as it could get, with it's raspy voice. "I mean, shouldn't you two have shat yourself by now?"
"Well, I mean it's hardly intimidating." Hound responded, Hastings violently nodding beside him, the previous transgressions now forgotten in the face of this new enemy "You're a little girl, that's hardly going to scare me." He gestured towards his 7 foot tall skeletal frame, his suit and overcoat were the only things that gave the illusion of a healthy human body.
"I mean, for us this is just like any other Tuesday." Hastings reached for his holstered revolver "Now are you the sort of ghost that bullets will hurt, or are we going to have to ask the Church of England for an exorcist again?"
"Wait seriously? That's it? No 'Oh please what do you want?' or 'Oh please don't haunt me, I've got so much to give' just straight to the- wait shit you've actually got a gun?"
"Well yeah, obviously, in our line of work-"
"What the *hell* sort of job do you have that means shooting ghosts is a regular occurrence?"
"Well it's not just ghosts we sho-"
"Her Majesty's paranormal defense force." Hound said, with no small measure of pride "Not that her Majesty herself actually knows we exist anymore... Well, our relationship with the monarchy was weird ever since Cromwell, that bastard, struck us from the records."
"Oh." The ghost slunk back into it's chair, all signs of rage slipped away, replaced only with apathy. "You're actual ghost hunters then?"
Both Hound and Hastings sank into chairs on the opposite side of the table.
"Like I was saying before I was *rudely* interrupted," Hastings said, digging his elbow into Hound's ribs. "We don't JUST hunt ghosts, sometimes we hunt werewolves, or vampires." Hastings scratched his head. "Sometimes we don't hunt stuff. Mostly it's just fighting stuff though. Hound even fought in World War II, with my father."
"World War II?" The ghost brought her head up from the table "Just how old are you?"
"About 600 last time I counted." Hound said as he produced a bottle of whiskey and some glasses from somewhere in his coat.
"He's a lich" Hastings whispered, conspiratorially "Doesn't much like to talk about it though"
"A lich."
"Yes. As much as I don't like it, that's the case." He passed a glass of whiskey to Hastings, before draining the glass he filled for himself. "Oh, sorry, do you want some?"
"Jesus Christ." The ghost's head fell back onto the table.
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/56df5s/wp_you_buy_a_deadly_haunted_house_little_do_the/d8jmk6y)
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Escrow just closed! It's mine. Oh yeah!
Perhaps I should rethink this. The lady next door says it's haunted. Just haunted?! Nah, it'll be fine. Maybe I'll feel better if I have a Slim Jim.
First night, utter crap. There was nothing. I wore my favorite shorts, the lucky ones that always attract the supernatural. But no response.
Second night. Definitely something. Smelled brimstone, it's probably a mid-level demonic beast.
Third night. It manifested. The foot of my bed burst into flames, blood poured out of the closet, and the hell-beast came forth, no doubt intending to eat mild-mannered Joe Carpenter's skinny body. And that is when I struck. I burst from my host Joe's body like a glorious barbarian of old, or maybe those funky aliens from that one movie, flexing my mighty muscles and shouting my eldritch war cry. Needless to say, the demon was paralyzed with fear. I ate it.
On cold nights, when you feel the monsters of the dark nipping your heels, you know how to call upon me, the root of all that is baneful and masculine. Just snap into a Slim Jim, and with a thunderous "OH YEAH" I will enter your pitiful reality. That which does not die eternal will forever sleep, something something, until death itself shall something, whatever. OH YEAH!
|
|
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
|
I'll never forget the day I saw the devil, proof of God, proof of my faith, the day I lost my faith.
I'd been an exorcist for decades. It's a catholic sinecure for priests with no real future as parish leaders or higher up the chain. Mostly alcoholics or scholarly types (so much crossover between those two noble modes of being) but you always meet a few true exorcists. True believers. Men who expect to meet the devil someday and spend their waking hours in prayer or study or meditation, screwing their will to the wall in preparation for the unimaginable, and every four years at the convention in Rome they stand together in the corner, drinking and looking very intently at each other while they spin wild tales of devil worshipers in the frozen forests of Russia or cannibals that never sleep in the south pacific. Yes, we have a convention. Like printer salesmen.
Last year was the same as always, the true believers drinking together and scowling determinedly. I went to say hello to one with whom I'd had some engaging conversation at the last one. Two were talking in whispers until they saw me, then they stopped, staring intently with the tired and sunken eyes of men who spend their lives in books, in dark corners of the world, and who sleep less than they should and drink considerably more.
I started to speak to my acquaintance and we were engaging the usual pleasantries and starting to move onto rugby (a mutual topic of interest, Go Springboks!) when the taller of the two whisperers leaned over and asked my name. I started at his intrusion, then politely told him and wished him good cheer. He asked me if I worked in America, in New York, which of course I did. My work takes me across New England and the Atlantic states, which I told him. He looked at me with a gaze I could not penetrate. His cohort asked if I ever worked in the Hudson Valley. Near Phoenicia? No, I said, never.
They both smiled and wished us a good evening, then returned to an alcove to whisper intently.
The rest of the convention was banal. Three absurd seminars, one by the tall inquisitor from the first evening, all depicting medieval sounding encounters with devils of one kind or another. At one point two experts began yelling at each other over which demon had been encountered based on the evidence, the one demanding they march down to the library and sort it out in the original greek, the other damning his eyes for not seeing the obvious (in order to disguise his total lack of greek, or latin for that matter). I yawned and left, flying home through Newark the next morning and returning to my rooms.
Two days later the Archbishop called my cellphone and asked me if I'd ever been to the Hudson Valley, near Phoenicia.
================================
I walked into the Archbishop's office and he asked me to sit. He wrung his hands, furrowed his brow, began to speak but stopped, then again. He asked me how I liked being an exorcist. Fine, I said. It was true enough. He asked me if I'd had any successful exorcisms. I told him I had, which was true in a way. They were all really psychological problems and one was just a teenager with an overprotective mother. That one was solved by a made-up ceremony with great fanfare and a quiet chat with the teen to just hold it together in front of mom until she was old enough to leave, just stop getting caught.
He chuckled, frowned, leaned back. He held my gaze for a full minute, then smiled. He handed me a folder and pointed to the door.
Go with God, he said as the door closed behind me.
I read through the first few pages of the report in the Lyft back to New Jersey, courtesy of the archdiocese. Before we'd gotten to the tunnel I told him to stop and take me to Penn Station. By lunchtime I was on the Metro North, by supper I was on a bus to the Catskills. To Phoenicia.
=====================================
I read the report a dozen times on the train, another four on the bus. It was fantastic. An old stone house in the mountains, about a mile and a half from an abandoned hotel that burned down, it had for years been on the church's radar. The stories were downright silly. Drums on the ridge, strange fires at night, chanting and singing and demonic rituals. The photos said it all. There was graffiti and broken beer bottles everywhere. This is really all exorcists do, investigate the superstitious claims of prudish parishioners. They all know it's just teenagers up there, but they miss being young and they don't see why everyone else should have all the fun.
But the teenagers also talked about strange things happening. People wandering off and showing up at dawn, cold and scared but with no memory of having wandered in the woods all night. Drugs, probably.
They also talked about lights in the forest, red lamps and low growls, scrapes and chanting. Lights that move faster than people should be able to. Probably hikers, though. There are hiking trails all over those mountains, and lots of people go on night hikes or thru hikes. Mountain bikes too, probably. At night though? Some must, I suppose.
And then there were the disappearances. Five. In a year. 1998. Two women, three men, one every week for five weeks. Nobody knew anything was happening until the third disappearance, then a search party member was lost, then a woman looking for her dog the week after. None of them were ever seen again, no remains were ever found.
And two days before the Archbishop called me, a jogger went missing with her dog. She jogged that route every morning, it took less than an hour to complete, and she would never have been more than a few hundred yards from the nearest road. There were a lot of other hikers and joggers that morning. Nobody saw anything, heard anything, or remembered anything unusual. The week before, a park ranger had gone missing while walking the trails. Just as he'd been doing for decades.
This was interesting. A serial killer? A group? A coincidence? Who knows. What was obvious was that nobody but the church, certainly not the tiny police force in Phoenicia, had made a connection yet, and despite their superstitiousness and general misanthropy, rural catholics would jump at the chance to go out into the woods with a bona fide exorcist and hunt a demon, or whatever, and hopefully just dissuade whoever this was from doing it again. Or at least hassle the sheriff enough to do it himself. Church folk squeak a lot.
I arrived in the center of town around 9pm and found the whole community standing in front of the supermarket, half of them armed. A young man saw me get off the bus and drew me aside, asking me if I wouldn't mind stepping off the street before the crowd saw my collar. We walked into a shop across the street where he introduced me to a middle aged woman, a realtor.
======================================
The realtor explained to me, quickly and nervously, that the house was for sale, that she couldn't legally stop anyone from buying it, and that it was all too late, too late, the wire transfer went through, and while the deed hadn't actually been signed, it was all done. I had no idea what she was talking about, and told her. She looked at me blankly, then at the young man. She was furious. Didn't I know who owned this house now? The Church. It was being sold with a lot of other properties to pay for settlements in the state of NY thanks to some of my more degenerate brothers, and the failure of their leaders to do anything about it.
I couldn't argue, the state was right, the church was wrong, I'm glad the land will go to use. She stared at me, wide eyed, as if I were speaking in tongues.
The Church owned it. Now they don't, she said. Then spun and walked to the door, her hands in fists, her steps determined, her shoulders tense, like a cat.
I turned to the young man and asked him who owned the house now?
I do, he said.
======================================
He was medium height, medium build, not particularly athletic, with a friendly face and a smile that stopped before it reached his eyes. He stared through me, like an old photograph from Life when those grizzled young marines walked off Iwo Jima, like a meth addict in a booking photo, like a doll. I asked him what he planned to do with the house. Go there, he said. When, I asked. Now.
With that he turned and walked out the main door of the house. He crossed the street halfway. The crowd, which moments ago had been talking loudly and angrily, which had been drawing up energy from that hot air like a hurricane, increasing in strength and unpredictability, becoming a mob, they now turned towards us, utterly silent. I think half of them were actually holding their breath.
The young man stopped before crossing the yellow lines and stood, arms akimbo. Some men began walking towards him, one pointed his rifle, but he looked nervous. The young man spoke softly, but everyone heard him clearly.
I'm going for a walk. I'd like you all to stay here.
With that, he spun and walked down the road and began crossing the bridge. I followed him, looking nervously back at the crowd. They looked terrified, but they didn't follow. The men with guns looked around sheepishly and awkwardly cradled their rifles and shotguns as if they were waiting their turn at skeet.
=====================================
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This place has power. Overlooking the dark city, it’s pier a finger wrapped in fog, the falling hills bathed in light, I can see it all. I feel the power of old belief. The power of magic and of Gods and of fear. This is a city of magic, their trade is to sell it on large screens, but there is real magic here. There are things that lurk the night.
The shadows move in this house. The last stains of old fear come alive for me. Maybe they think I am an old man. Maybe they think I would become another thread in this woven cloth of unhappy endings. Oh how wrong they are. How I will show these demons.
I have had a child delivered. It wasn’t hard in this city of angels. I promised to make him a star, one that no one will ever forget. I keep my promises, though I doubt the boy will like it. As the sun sets, I look down at the city from the porch. Even this old wood carries the splinter of memory. An old woman died here, hanging herself from the awning, overlooking the blinking lights of so many dreams. She haunts here still, a ghost as she was in life, angry and trapped.
I wonder what she thinks of me. Her voice sings softly as the sky darkens. These demons come out to play, and I suppose I ought to entertain them. I finish my drink and I go inside. The door shuts behind in a windless slam and I hear the boy struggling upstairs. He is good and afraid now, his blood well seasoned. I drain him slowly and he dies a martyr, though not a well composed one. I can feel the spirits watching me, the candle light glinting off the old wooden walls. My shadow grows long and they remain still.
The boy’s blood tastes delicious. It has been so long since I have had such a meal. I feel stronger, empowered. The house shivers in fear. The old woman walks the kitchen, her tortured spirit afraid of my presence. I command her to retell her suicide, soaking up her fear. It makes me stronger still, and I know the time is right.
From the window the night is again black. Despite all the lights they can hang, the blackness remains, an encroaching fog that will not stay. I watch the pier be consumed by the ocean’s mist. I see the black surround the hills as the trees sway in fear. This city does not know what lurks here. They are blinded by their movie magic and plastic faces to see what really lurks beneath. They do not know who I am. They will never know. But they will fear me.
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[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil.
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"Well it could be worse."
Lord Hound stood in front of his new property. His last house burnt down after an accident involving his Luger, fire, and too much whiskey, and as such, he was forced to rather hastily purchase a new one.
"I very much doubt it, Hound, I'm fairly sure the roof is caving in." And then, as if to emphasize his point, one of the slate tiles slid off the roof, narrowly missing a passing raven.
"Please, I'm a thaumaturge, Hastings," he said, flourishing his bony hands "fixing this place up is child's play."
"I don't think there's any fixing up how bloody evil this place looks." He gestured to the surrounding woodland. Mist clung to the ground, and from it sprung grey trees, bent and crooked, much like the manor that they surrounded. "I mean, it wouldn't exactly be great for your image to be caught living in an actual haunted house."
"It's not haunted."
"The last 3 owners died under 'Mysterious circumstances' didn't they?"
"I don't think it's exactly mysterious when they were all over the age of 90."
"In our line of work, I'd be surprised if it was just ghosts." Hastings said, waving off Hound's last comment "Should we take a look inside?" Hound nodded in assent, and the two took off, further into the downright evil looking grounds.
________________________________________________________________
The door slowly slid open, revealing the inside of the manor.
"Well, the inside looks as shit as the outside." Hastings stepped through the door first, passing the threshold, and stood in the room, marveling at the sheer quantity of dust that filled the air.
"Oh have some faith" Hound ducked as he passed under the door "With some work, this place would look quite nice, I'm sure." The door slammed with a thunk that seemed to reverberate through the house.
"Christ, Hound, what did the door ever do to you?"
"I..." Hound stammered, turning towards the now shut door "I didn't shut it."
"I told you this place was haunted"
"That's idiotic, it was probably just... pressure, or something."
"Yeah, you keep believing that Hound, but I sure as hell won't be coming for sleepovers." He ran his finger across the top of a mirror, removing at least an inch of dust "At least not without my gun." He muttered under his breath.
"Oh don't you start shooting. I don't want to patch up bits of wall before I've even moved in"
"Honestly, I think a little hole would be the least of your problems."
"YOUR GUN DOESN'T LEAVE LITTLE HOLES, YOU BELLEND!"
"Oh fine. I promise I won't shoot the ghosts when they try and rip out what's left of your soul. Or whatever it is that ghosts do."
"I keep telling you, there aren't any ghosts." Hound said, smoothing back his hair, as if doing so would help him regain his composure. He walked past the stairs, trailing his hands along the banister, before opening the door at the end of the hallway. "Oh bollocks."
"What?"
"There's a ghost."
Hastings face flashed from confusion, to fear, before finally resting on impossibly smug.
"I told you there'd be ghosts."
"Oh shut up."
Hastings pushed past Hound, staring through the doorway that led into the kitchen. And just as Hound had said, there, at the dining table in the middle of the room, sat a ghost. A pale white, translucent little girl sat at the dining table, her head down against the green painted wood, her hair stringy and thin, and her ragged clothes sat against her impossibly bony frame.
"I TOLD you there'd be ghosts." Hastings said, before Hound cuffed him round the head, earning him an angry stare "Don't get angry at me because you bought a shit house filled with ghosts. I mean not that it's that big of a deal, but it's a-"
"Seriously?" The ghost lying on the table now sat upright, looking at the two men in the doorway incredulously. "You walk into the evil old manor, through the twisting trees, past the crowing birds, and into the heart of the haunted house, you find a ghost, and your only response is 'It's not that big of a deal'?" The exasperated ghost stood, now almost yelling, or at least as close as it could get, with it's raspy voice. "I mean, shouldn't you two have shat yourself by now?"
"Well, I mean it's hardly intimidating." Hound responded, Hastings violently nodding beside him, the previous transgressions now forgotten in the face of this new enemy "You're a little girl, that's hardly going to scare me." He gestured towards his 7 foot tall skeletal frame, his suit and overcoat were the only things that gave the illusion of a healthy human body.
"I mean, for us this is just like any other Tuesday." Hastings reached for his holstered revolver "Now are you the sort of ghost that bullets will hurt, or are we going to have to ask the Church of England for an exorcist again?"
"Wait seriously? That's it? No 'Oh please what do you want?' or 'Oh please don't haunt me, I've got so much to give' just straight to the- wait shit you've actually got a gun?"
"Well yeah, obviously, in our line of work-"
"What the *hell* sort of job do you have that means shooting ghosts is a regular occurrence?"
"Well it's not just ghosts we sho-"
"Her Majesty's paranormal defense force." Hound said, with no small measure of pride "Not that her Majesty herself actually knows we exist anymore... Well, our relationship with the monarchy was weird ever since Cromwell, that bastard, struck us from the records."
"Oh." The ghost slunk back into it's chair, all signs of rage slipped away, replaced only with apathy. "You're actual ghost hunters then?"
Both Hound and Hastings sank into chairs on the opposite side of the table.
"Like I was saying before I was *rudely* interrupted," Hastings said, digging his elbow into Hound's ribs. "We don't JUST hunt ghosts, sometimes we hunt werewolves, or vampires." Hastings scratched his head. "Sometimes we don't hunt stuff. Mostly it's just fighting stuff though. Hound even fought in World War II, with my father."
"World War II?" The ghost brought her head up from the table "Just how old are you?"
"About 600 last time I counted." Hound said as he produced a bottle of whiskey and some glasses from somewhere in his coat.
"He's a lich" Hastings whispered, conspiratorially "Doesn't much like to talk about it though"
"A lich."
"Yes. As much as I don't like it, that's the case." He passed a glass of whiskey to Hastings, before draining the glass he filled for himself. "Oh, sorry, do you want some?"
"Jesus Christ." The ghost's head fell back onto the table.
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/56df5s/wp_you_buy_a_deadly_haunted_house_little_do_the/d8jmk6y)
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This place has power. Overlooking the dark city, it’s pier a finger wrapped in fog, the falling hills bathed in light, I can see it all. I feel the power of old belief. The power of magic and of Gods and of fear. This is a city of magic, their trade is to sell it on large screens, but there is real magic here. There are things that lurk the night.
The shadows move in this house. The last stains of old fear come alive for me. Maybe they think I am an old man. Maybe they think I would become another thread in this woven cloth of unhappy endings. Oh how wrong they are. How I will show these demons.
I have had a child delivered. It wasn’t hard in this city of angels. I promised to make him a star, one that no one will ever forget. I keep my promises, though I doubt the boy will like it. As the sun sets, I look down at the city from the porch. Even this old wood carries the splinter of memory. An old woman died here, hanging herself from the awning, overlooking the blinking lights of so many dreams. She haunts here still, a ghost as she was in life, angry and trapped.
I wonder what she thinks of me. Her voice sings softly as the sky darkens. These demons come out to play, and I suppose I ought to entertain them. I finish my drink and I go inside. The door shuts behind in a windless slam and I hear the boy struggling upstairs. He is good and afraid now, his blood well seasoned. I drain him slowly and he dies a martyr, though not a well composed one. I can feel the spirits watching me, the candle light glinting off the old wooden walls. My shadow grows long and they remain still.
The boy’s blood tastes delicious. It has been so long since I have had such a meal. I feel stronger, empowered. The house shivers in fear. The old woman walks the kitchen, her tortured spirit afraid of my presence. I command her to retell her suicide, soaking up her fear. It makes me stronger still, and I know the time is right.
From the window the night is again black. Despite all the lights they can hang, the blackness remains, an encroaching fog that will not stay. I watch the pier be consumed by the ocean’s mist. I see the black surround the hills as the trees sway in fear. This city does not know what lurks here. They are blinded by their movie magic and plastic faces to see what really lurks beneath. They do not know who I am. They will never know. But they will fear me.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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The year was 2046. In my car was my sickly grandfather, who in his 80's had a myriad of health problems. I had promised to take him to the pharmacy in order to get him his docter-prescribed Wonder Anti-Aging pills, despite my grave concern about the possible side effects. I couldn't stand to see him suffer like this any longer.
As we drove along the road, countless billboards lined the streets advertising this miracle pill. They all had famous celebrities from 30-40 years ago and their new youthful faces.
At the pharmacy, we go to the counter and get his prescription. As the pharmacist hands my grandfather the pills, I see my grandfather's face light up as it never had in my 23 years of existence. It should have been the happiest day of my existence, but 10 years later I would regret that moment for the remainder of my existence.
In the last decade, my now 25 year old grandfather had found a job and a roommate. His roommate was my age, and like me had had refused to take the pills. One night I get a call from the police, telling me that my grandfather had assaulted his roommate. Hearing that my normal sweet and mild-mannered grandfather at first came as a shock to me, but cases of assault had risen dramatically in the last year or so. Immediately the pills came to mind.
I decided to do some research on approximately a dozen of these assaults, and a very alarming trend appeared; all of the previous offenders were born before my grandfather...
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In gagnork 345d a pill has caused greatest suffering. many years this pill made young of old, and younger, and not know what it is they are or would be, collecting records and sailing and getting discounted movie tickets for years.
but something bad came of it, first the movie theatres went out of business, then the alcoholiums of gagnork. Al men were then afflicted with great disease, growing large mightiful genitalia.
I am glad that i took no such medicine, now i live in awful world, i am old, and my junk is small and managable.
what holds of future for gagnrk, no one knows.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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I'm in my office, Sunday afternoon, hiding, really, from my wife. I'm holding a pill bottle. Twirling it this way and that, feeling the rattle of 27 pills shifting inside. This morning I'd opened the box marked, "Do not open until August, 2047" and taken the pill bottle out. I know. I'm early, renegging on the promise I made my past self. But I'm contemplating taking them. I've given myself until 5pm to make a decision. And because I've still go 3 hours to go and I can't stand thinking about it anymore, I start shifting through the papers on my desk, reading up on my newest case. Work has always been a source of solace. Or it used to be.
The latest case involves the statutory rape of a 57 year old man (who, of course, looks 18, maybe. 18's a stretch.) by my client, a 42 year old woman. Pretty typical. He'd taken the drug for 22 days on a fairly high does back when it was new in 2017, a wealthy man, he could afford to be among the first. And since he was among the first, his emotional growth has now reversed enough that the shrink put his mentality at about age 12. I would have thought 9 or 10 from the only time I heard him speak, but whatever. 12 is better for my case.
My client is scum, of course. She took advantage, that's clear. And to think I'd switched from defending men to defending women because I thought it would be better. It's not, sometimes I think it's worse.
I've reached two thresholds. 1.) I've socked away enough money in a trust that my wife and I will be able to live happily for a very long time on just the dividends. Neither of us will be allowed to touch the principal, ever, because if I take the pills I'd surely go and blow it on something stupid. and 2.) My work and just the world as a whole depresses me so much at this point that I really do think I would enjoy returning to the mentality of a 12 year old. At least then I would be able to stand my wife.
She took the drug, behind my back, in the early stages, even though we'd both promised ourselves we would wait to see if there were any side-effects. Neither of us trusted how they'd rushed it through clinical trials.
But unbeknownst to me she'd gone against the plan and taken it around 2025. She told me it was because she could see my attraction to her fading. By that time, young-looking, nubile females made up about 40% of the population in developed countries. It was true. It was hard to keep my eyes on the rapidly wrinkling face of my spouse with that much beauty on display in the streets.
When she started showing signs of regression, when the wrinkles started disappearing, but so did her maturity...when the elegant, intelligent woman that I'd been so proud to call my wife changed to a self-obsessed, short-sighted and yes, hot little mid-twenties woman...I just missed her. The *old* her. I missed talking to her. I wanted my grown up Sally back, my friend, my confidant, the only person in the world that I trusted more than myself. Her body may be back in our apartment, lithe and tanned, smooth-eyed and lustrous haired, gossiping on the telephone, trying out new ways to do make up, thinking that being hotter and sexier was the way to make me love her again...but my real wife, the one who could hold her own in conversation with my colleagues at dinner parties, the one who often surprised me with her wit, who kept me on my toes because I knew I couldn't slide anything past her...that woman is no where to be found.
The sex was hot at first. New. For both of us, it seemed. But now I can barely stand to touch her. I can see it in her eyes, the same bleeding desperation for acceptance that's in the eyes of the Plaintiffs I see in court. Love me love me love me please. It’s the opposite of sexy.
I turn on the recording of my first meeting with this client, the 42 year old woman.
"He consented," her gravelly voice says, "he wanted it as bad as I did, or worse."
Of course he did! He's got the mind (and the hormones) of a 12 year old boy! But while you were fucking his 18 year old body, you were also fucking with that 12 year old mind! And he'll never recover!
That's part of it. The Forever Youngs - their brains don't trim away memories and feelings the way an adult brain does - that's how the neuroscientists explain it. I don't understand the mechanisms, I'm not a fucking doctor. But it’s like this- people who didn’t take the drug, they grow up. When you’re a grown up, you can tell yourself a new story, one you can live with. But these Forever Youngs can't fucking do that. Every day they wake up and the pain of being used and jilted and tossed away like a soiled kleenex by someone who never really loved them is as bad as the *first day* they figured out they'd been used. And they’re really self-destructive. A lot of suicide, a lot of cutting themselves, a lot of violence and destruction of property, if they turn the pain outwards instead of inwards. The more of these affairs they have, the more they get used and tossed away, the less able to function they are. Even worse ,they pass that kind of pain on to the people they sleep with – a cascade of using and discarding, so nobody can create meaningful attachments anymore. Everyone’s trying to hurt before they get hurt.
"I've got video," says my client on the recording, "you know, I took it for my own viewing pleasure, so I could watch it later. I've got video showing he was very enthusiastic, that he wanted to be there."
"Did he consent to video?" I ask.
"Well, no," she says, "but what's worse, a statutory rape charge or a video without consent charge? You think it would be better if we settled out of court?"
I snap the stop button.
"Aw fuck aw fuck aw fuck," I'm kneading my temples. I can't fucking stand it. I can't help my client get off. It would be bad enough if he was just trying to take her for her money, but I can tell, this is one of his first affairs with a mature person. He doesn’t want her money. He really loves her. The puppy dog eyes, gazing at her hopefully from across the courtroom. Love me love me love me. You can practically hear his wounded thoughts. Didn't that thing we did with our bodies together, didn't that mean that you loved me and you always will? I *know* you still love me because I still love you. It’s the same shit my wife goes through every time she has an affair, every time she comes home more emotionally damaged than the last. Forever hopeful and hopes forever dashed.
And my client is just like the men my wife sleeps with. Her smug face, her raised eyebrows. She's fucked that kid up forever and she'll never understand it and she'll never face any consequences because she's got money and she can afford me. I hate her for it. I hate me for it.
You can imagine what happens when roughly 80% of the population has regressed to the mentality of teenagers. You can imagine the burden born by those of us who didn't take the drug. Some sectors of the economy are thriving because there's a glut of cheap unskilled labor, and those of us who DIDN'T take the drug are massively wealthy. It's strange, there's been a flip. Most people who could afford the drug took it. So the people who couldn't afford the drug, the uneducated or unlucky, are now able to take advantage of those who did take the drug in a multitude of ways. Affairs, yes, and business contracts. The Forever Young sign contracts without considering the consequences because, well, they’re teenagers at heart. And they enter affairs the same way. All those rushing hormones.
I could switch teams, I think. I could defend the Forever Young. I could be one of those bleeding heart lawyers who defend the defenseless, pro bono. If people knew they’d be prosecuted, would that turn the tide? Am I a good enough lawyer for that? Could I get a whole team on it? If I feel this way, there must be many of us who do. In the beginning I was as staunchly against “false rape charges” as anyone I knew. But my colleagues- they must see what statutory rape does to people.
Or I could just say fuck it all and take the pills. In a few years time, I could look at my lovely wife as an equal again. And live in a perpetual state of hedonistic joy. We've got the money. And to protect myself from being abused by mature women, I've written this manifesto. It's very convincing. I'm quite proud of it. It's a treatise on why the Forever Youngs shouldn't sleep with the mature folks. I got a professional voice actor to record it, and put it to a montage of inspirational video and pictures. It's light on science, but explains everything I've discovered from years of experience watching how these relationships emotionally smash the Forever Youngs. I really think, if I were to listen to it every morning, if it came on automatically and I was made to watch it, my wife too--- maybe if we were to watch to it every morning, maybe we could resist the sophisticated manipulations of the mature people. So that would be a way of keeping myself emotionally sane as a Forever Young. Maybe we could make it a condition of getting our trust money every month.
But then I've got this other thought. If I were to disseminate this video- if everyone were made to watch it every morning, if I could write that into legislation somehow...maybe I could really turn the tide. Maybe I could fix this. But I would need time, I would need all of my intelligence and maturity, and I would need all of my money, to make something like that happen.
I lift the bottle again. I unscrew the lid. I consider tipping a pill into my hand. I look at the clock. 4:57pm. I also see 24 missed calls from my lovely, perpetually teenaged, insecure wife. To take the pill or not take the pill? Three minutes to decide.
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My name is Samuel, and I was three when the medication/vaccination called "lifelong" came out. My parents couldn't afford for all three of us to be on the medication because it was around a million dollars for the treatment, and I was part of a middle class family from ohio. So they put me through the medication process.
The doctors that started this medication were genius. They knew exactly what caused aging and how to prevent it, which is all classified of course and only the creators and certain government officials know how it works. I was giving 2 pills a day for a month at the age of four, then when I was a teenager (18) was given 2 shots a day for a week then the process was over. I didn't feel younger but they told me you aren't suppose to. The medication prolonged life but dosen't make you younger. This is when I realized I was going to be forever 18. How do you accept that your parents are aging while you are not? The people you love are slowly dying while you are immortal?
After I was done with the "lifelong" process I went to college and got all the degrees I wanted 2 masters, 1 doctorate, and 3 bachelors degrees. I was only in college for like 25 years and I was consumed with debt. While I was getting my doctorate my parents were both killed in a car accident. This was the lowest point of my life. Then it occurred to me that I could also be killed in accidents. I worked for years to pay off my debt and I worked my way up to CEO of a very popular computer company. I was getting rich. By the age of 93 I had paid off college and was making a million dollars a day. This was the good life. I hired body guards and bought the most protective vehicles ever to keep me safe and prevent accidents like the one my parents were in. I stilled looked 18 and I met someone who like me had been through the "lifelong" medication process they technically were 103 but there body was stopped at the age of 23. We married when I was 106 and she was 103 and I was never happier. We had 6 kids and all of which were put through the program and stopped aging around the age of 18. When I was 234 years old is when problems started to occur. Unlike me people on the program were sometimes over run by stress some people were poor and couldn't afford to live even with this long life they possessed. America being the only country that provided this medication had its highest rate of suicides ever. The stress of living forever while there families died was killing people. I was still healthy and I wasn't stressed because I had a beautiful family. Other countries hated Americans living forever because it wasn't allowed to foreigners and started declaring war, Over the medication .many terrorist attacks took place in America but this was only one of the many problems stress of the people on the program continued to rise and more death occurred. 2 of my daughters killed themselves and one of my sons was killed in a terrorist attack. I was stressed my wife was stressed and eventually we fled America. When I was 526 years old my wife had something strange happen to her she stopped talking and eventually stopped eating and then stopped blinking and died. This wasn't normal and wasn't caused by stress. Her brain was so old that it gave up. This is when I too stopped blinking in my new home in Switzerland and eventually fell over dead. My fortune was given to my remaining kids who then set out to save the world for destruction in the name of their father.
(This is my first ever writing prompt sorry if it's bad)
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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I'm in my office, Sunday afternoon, hiding, really, from my wife. I'm holding a pill bottle. Twirling it this way and that, feeling the rattle of 27 pills shifting inside. This morning I'd opened the box marked, "Do not open until August, 2047" and taken the pill bottle out. I know. I'm early, renegging on the promise I made my past self. But I'm contemplating taking them. I've given myself until 5pm to make a decision. And because I've still go 3 hours to go and I can't stand thinking about it anymore, I start shifting through the papers on my desk, reading up on my newest case. Work has always been a source of solace. Or it used to be.
The latest case involves the statutory rape of a 57 year old man (who, of course, looks 18, maybe. 18's a stretch.) by my client, a 42 year old woman. Pretty typical. He'd taken the drug for 22 days on a fairly high does back when it was new in 2017, a wealthy man, he could afford to be among the first. And since he was among the first, his emotional growth has now reversed enough that the shrink put his mentality at about age 12. I would have thought 9 or 10 from the only time I heard him speak, but whatever. 12 is better for my case.
My client is scum, of course. She took advantage, that's clear. And to think I'd switched from defending men to defending women because I thought it would be better. It's not, sometimes I think it's worse.
I've reached two thresholds. 1.) I've socked away enough money in a trust that my wife and I will be able to live happily for a very long time on just the dividends. Neither of us will be allowed to touch the principal, ever, because if I take the pills I'd surely go and blow it on something stupid. and 2.) My work and just the world as a whole depresses me so much at this point that I really do think I would enjoy returning to the mentality of a 12 year old. At least then I would be able to stand my wife.
She took the drug, behind my back, in the early stages, even though we'd both promised ourselves we would wait to see if there were any side-effects. Neither of us trusted how they'd rushed it through clinical trials.
But unbeknownst to me she'd gone against the plan and taken it around 2025. She told me it was because she could see my attraction to her fading. By that time, young-looking, nubile females made up about 40% of the population in developed countries. It was true. It was hard to keep my eyes on the rapidly wrinkling face of my spouse with that much beauty on display in the streets.
When she started showing signs of regression, when the wrinkles started disappearing, but so did her maturity...when the elegant, intelligent woman that I'd been so proud to call my wife changed to a self-obsessed, short-sighted and yes, hot little mid-twenties woman...I just missed her. The *old* her. I missed talking to her. I wanted my grown up Sally back, my friend, my confidant, the only person in the world that I trusted more than myself. Her body may be back in our apartment, lithe and tanned, smooth-eyed and lustrous haired, gossiping on the telephone, trying out new ways to do make up, thinking that being hotter and sexier was the way to make me love her again...but my real wife, the one who could hold her own in conversation with my colleagues at dinner parties, the one who often surprised me with her wit, who kept me on my toes because I knew I couldn't slide anything past her...that woman is no where to be found.
The sex was hot at first. New. For both of us, it seemed. But now I can barely stand to touch her. I can see it in her eyes, the same bleeding desperation for acceptance that's in the eyes of the Plaintiffs I see in court. Love me love me love me please. It’s the opposite of sexy.
I turn on the recording of my first meeting with this client, the 42 year old woman.
"He consented," her gravelly voice says, "he wanted it as bad as I did, or worse."
Of course he did! He's got the mind (and the hormones) of a 12 year old boy! But while you were fucking his 18 year old body, you were also fucking with that 12 year old mind! And he'll never recover!
That's part of it. The Forever Youngs - their brains don't trim away memories and feelings the way an adult brain does - that's how the neuroscientists explain it. I don't understand the mechanisms, I'm not a fucking doctor. But it’s like this- people who didn’t take the drug, they grow up. When you’re a grown up, you can tell yourself a new story, one you can live with. But these Forever Youngs can't fucking do that. Every day they wake up and the pain of being used and jilted and tossed away like a soiled kleenex by someone who never really loved them is as bad as the *first day* they figured out they'd been used. And they’re really self-destructive. A lot of suicide, a lot of cutting themselves, a lot of violence and destruction of property, if they turn the pain outwards instead of inwards. The more of these affairs they have, the more they get used and tossed away, the less able to function they are. Even worse ,they pass that kind of pain on to the people they sleep with – a cascade of using and discarding, so nobody can create meaningful attachments anymore. Everyone’s trying to hurt before they get hurt.
"I've got video," says my client on the recording, "you know, I took it for my own viewing pleasure, so I could watch it later. I've got video showing he was very enthusiastic, that he wanted to be there."
"Did he consent to video?" I ask.
"Well, no," she says, "but what's worse, a statutory rape charge or a video without consent charge? You think it would be better if we settled out of court?"
I snap the stop button.
"Aw fuck aw fuck aw fuck," I'm kneading my temples. I can't fucking stand it. I can't help my client get off. It would be bad enough if he was just trying to take her for her money, but I can tell, this is one of his first affairs with a mature person. He doesn’t want her money. He really loves her. The puppy dog eyes, gazing at her hopefully from across the courtroom. Love me love me love me. You can practically hear his wounded thoughts. Didn't that thing we did with our bodies together, didn't that mean that you loved me and you always will? I *know* you still love me because I still love you. It’s the same shit my wife goes through every time she has an affair, every time she comes home more emotionally damaged than the last. Forever hopeful and hopes forever dashed.
And my client is just like the men my wife sleeps with. Her smug face, her raised eyebrows. She's fucked that kid up forever and she'll never understand it and she'll never face any consequences because she's got money and she can afford me. I hate her for it. I hate me for it.
You can imagine what happens when roughly 80% of the population has regressed to the mentality of teenagers. You can imagine the burden born by those of us who didn't take the drug. Some sectors of the economy are thriving because there's a glut of cheap unskilled labor, and those of us who DIDN'T take the drug are massively wealthy. It's strange, there's been a flip. Most people who could afford the drug took it. So the people who couldn't afford the drug, the uneducated or unlucky, are now able to take advantage of those who did take the drug in a multitude of ways. Affairs, yes, and business contracts. The Forever Young sign contracts without considering the consequences because, well, they’re teenagers at heart. And they enter affairs the same way. All those rushing hormones.
I could switch teams, I think. I could defend the Forever Young. I could be one of those bleeding heart lawyers who defend the defenseless, pro bono. If people knew they’d be prosecuted, would that turn the tide? Am I a good enough lawyer for that? Could I get a whole team on it? If I feel this way, there must be many of us who do. In the beginning I was as staunchly against “false rape charges” as anyone I knew. But my colleagues- they must see what statutory rape does to people.
Or I could just say fuck it all and take the pills. In a few years time, I could look at my lovely wife as an equal again. And live in a perpetual state of hedonistic joy. We've got the money. And to protect myself from being abused by mature women, I've written this manifesto. It's very convincing. I'm quite proud of it. It's a treatise on why the Forever Youngs shouldn't sleep with the mature folks. I got a professional voice actor to record it, and put it to a montage of inspirational video and pictures. It's light on science, but explains everything I've discovered from years of experience watching how these relationships emotionally smash the Forever Youngs. I really think, if I were to listen to it every morning, if it came on automatically and I was made to watch it, my wife too--- maybe if we were to watch to it every morning, maybe we could resist the sophisticated manipulations of the mature people. So that would be a way of keeping myself emotionally sane as a Forever Young. Maybe we could make it a condition of getting our trust money every month.
But then I've got this other thought. If I were to disseminate this video- if everyone were made to watch it every morning, if I could write that into legislation somehow...maybe I could really turn the tide. Maybe I could fix this. But I would need time, I would need all of my intelligence and maturity, and I would need all of my money, to make something like that happen.
I lift the bottle again. I unscrew the lid. I consider tipping a pill into my hand. I look at the clock. 4:57pm. I also see 24 missed calls from my lovely, perpetually teenaged, insecure wife. To take the pill or not take the pill? Three minutes to decide.
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(this is my first story here so apologies!!)
The meeting took place in some palace in Nepal. The exterior was manicured exactly to Their specifications- a bit decrepit, so as not to attract attention, naturally aged, but nothing too serious as to disturb the people inside. After all, they were a collection of the wealthiest, most influential individuals in the world. They sat in wooden seats and rested their wrinkled hands on wooden desks, surviving treasures from a greener age. Impatient, they drummed their stiff fingers, waiting for the thin Russian man with a youthful smile and perfect hands to begin his speech.
He was instantly captivating, his words- automatically translated thanks to cochlear implants- promising eternal youth by ingesting only a small pill which freezes and reverses the aging process to its most optimal state.
The man spread his arms outward in a sweeping gesture.
"This pill will be the key to a happy, stable society for all. That is truly my wish, and I believe we can accomplish it."
It would allow the leaders of the world, he continued, to rule their country for hundreds of years. Simply place a new puppet leader on the throne every so often and pull the strings. He concluded his pitch, stating that the pill would be available only to those in the room, and at a price of only $1.5 billion each, payable over two hundred years or death, whichever came sooner.
"Likely, the former," the man smiled.
A large clamor ensued as every man and woman in the room demanded a pill. Except for one rather plain looking man sitting in the far back of the room, who only continued to drum his fingers at an increasingly erratic rate.
_____
It had been thirty years since then, and the man's seat as prime minister of Norway had long since expired. He was lucky to have escaped the countless tragedies that had begun to plague the world at a gruesome rate- genocides, natural disasters, and entire countries left uninhabitable due to pollution.
He lived now in a retirement home, forgotten by the world and its leaders. An old man like him was of no use to them. He sighed. He had not seen anyone from that palace room since that day; but he could picture them now, young twenty-somethings who grasped the fate of humanity in their hands and chose to spin it, spin it like a wooden top and laugh at wherever it fell.
The man was roused from his thoughts when he heard the daily paper being slipped through his door by a tired old nurse. He began reading as per usual, glancing at the headline. He expected to see yet another story about millions dying in some kind of tragedy. But instead, he read the story of a young Russian man who had apparently stabbed, shot, maimed and burned himself hundreds of times, but was mysteriously unable to die.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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I'm in my office, Sunday afternoon, hiding, really, from my wife. I'm holding a pill bottle. Twirling it this way and that, feeling the rattle of 27 pills shifting inside. This morning I'd opened the box marked, "Do not open until August, 2047" and taken the pill bottle out. I know. I'm early, renegging on the promise I made my past self. But I'm contemplating taking them. I've given myself until 5pm to make a decision. And because I've still go 3 hours to go and I can't stand thinking about it anymore, I start shifting through the papers on my desk, reading up on my newest case. Work has always been a source of solace. Or it used to be.
The latest case involves the statutory rape of a 57 year old man (who, of course, looks 18, maybe. 18's a stretch.) by my client, a 42 year old woman. Pretty typical. He'd taken the drug for 22 days on a fairly high does back when it was new in 2017, a wealthy man, he could afford to be among the first. And since he was among the first, his emotional growth has now reversed enough that the shrink put his mentality at about age 12. I would have thought 9 or 10 from the only time I heard him speak, but whatever. 12 is better for my case.
My client is scum, of course. She took advantage, that's clear. And to think I'd switched from defending men to defending women because I thought it would be better. It's not, sometimes I think it's worse.
I've reached two thresholds. 1.) I've socked away enough money in a trust that my wife and I will be able to live happily for a very long time on just the dividends. Neither of us will be allowed to touch the principal, ever, because if I take the pills I'd surely go and blow it on something stupid. and 2.) My work and just the world as a whole depresses me so much at this point that I really do think I would enjoy returning to the mentality of a 12 year old. At least then I would be able to stand my wife.
She took the drug, behind my back, in the early stages, even though we'd both promised ourselves we would wait to see if there were any side-effects. Neither of us trusted how they'd rushed it through clinical trials.
But unbeknownst to me she'd gone against the plan and taken it around 2025. She told me it was because she could see my attraction to her fading. By that time, young-looking, nubile females made up about 40% of the population in developed countries. It was true. It was hard to keep my eyes on the rapidly wrinkling face of my spouse with that much beauty on display in the streets.
When she started showing signs of regression, when the wrinkles started disappearing, but so did her maturity...when the elegant, intelligent woman that I'd been so proud to call my wife changed to a self-obsessed, short-sighted and yes, hot little mid-twenties woman...I just missed her. The *old* her. I missed talking to her. I wanted my grown up Sally back, my friend, my confidant, the only person in the world that I trusted more than myself. Her body may be back in our apartment, lithe and tanned, smooth-eyed and lustrous haired, gossiping on the telephone, trying out new ways to do make up, thinking that being hotter and sexier was the way to make me love her again...but my real wife, the one who could hold her own in conversation with my colleagues at dinner parties, the one who often surprised me with her wit, who kept me on my toes because I knew I couldn't slide anything past her...that woman is no where to be found.
The sex was hot at first. New. For both of us, it seemed. But now I can barely stand to touch her. I can see it in her eyes, the same bleeding desperation for acceptance that's in the eyes of the Plaintiffs I see in court. Love me love me love me please. It’s the opposite of sexy.
I turn on the recording of my first meeting with this client, the 42 year old woman.
"He consented," her gravelly voice says, "he wanted it as bad as I did, or worse."
Of course he did! He's got the mind (and the hormones) of a 12 year old boy! But while you were fucking his 18 year old body, you were also fucking with that 12 year old mind! And he'll never recover!
That's part of it. The Forever Youngs - their brains don't trim away memories and feelings the way an adult brain does - that's how the neuroscientists explain it. I don't understand the mechanisms, I'm not a fucking doctor. But it’s like this- people who didn’t take the drug, they grow up. When you’re a grown up, you can tell yourself a new story, one you can live with. But these Forever Youngs can't fucking do that. Every day they wake up and the pain of being used and jilted and tossed away like a soiled kleenex by someone who never really loved them is as bad as the *first day* they figured out they'd been used. And they’re really self-destructive. A lot of suicide, a lot of cutting themselves, a lot of violence and destruction of property, if they turn the pain outwards instead of inwards. The more of these affairs they have, the more they get used and tossed away, the less able to function they are. Even worse ,they pass that kind of pain on to the people they sleep with – a cascade of using and discarding, so nobody can create meaningful attachments anymore. Everyone’s trying to hurt before they get hurt.
"I've got video," says my client on the recording, "you know, I took it for my own viewing pleasure, so I could watch it later. I've got video showing he was very enthusiastic, that he wanted to be there."
"Did he consent to video?" I ask.
"Well, no," she says, "but what's worse, a statutory rape charge or a video without consent charge? You think it would be better if we settled out of court?"
I snap the stop button.
"Aw fuck aw fuck aw fuck," I'm kneading my temples. I can't fucking stand it. I can't help my client get off. It would be bad enough if he was just trying to take her for her money, but I can tell, this is one of his first affairs with a mature person. He doesn’t want her money. He really loves her. The puppy dog eyes, gazing at her hopefully from across the courtroom. Love me love me love me. You can practically hear his wounded thoughts. Didn't that thing we did with our bodies together, didn't that mean that you loved me and you always will? I *know* you still love me because I still love you. It’s the same shit my wife goes through every time she has an affair, every time she comes home more emotionally damaged than the last. Forever hopeful and hopes forever dashed.
And my client is just like the men my wife sleeps with. Her smug face, her raised eyebrows. She's fucked that kid up forever and she'll never understand it and she'll never face any consequences because she's got money and she can afford me. I hate her for it. I hate me for it.
You can imagine what happens when roughly 80% of the population has regressed to the mentality of teenagers. You can imagine the burden born by those of us who didn't take the drug. Some sectors of the economy are thriving because there's a glut of cheap unskilled labor, and those of us who DIDN'T take the drug are massively wealthy. It's strange, there's been a flip. Most people who could afford the drug took it. So the people who couldn't afford the drug, the uneducated or unlucky, are now able to take advantage of those who did take the drug in a multitude of ways. Affairs, yes, and business contracts. The Forever Young sign contracts without considering the consequences because, well, they’re teenagers at heart. And they enter affairs the same way. All those rushing hormones.
I could switch teams, I think. I could defend the Forever Young. I could be one of those bleeding heart lawyers who defend the defenseless, pro bono. If people knew they’d be prosecuted, would that turn the tide? Am I a good enough lawyer for that? Could I get a whole team on it? If I feel this way, there must be many of us who do. In the beginning I was as staunchly against “false rape charges” as anyone I knew. But my colleagues- they must see what statutory rape does to people.
Or I could just say fuck it all and take the pills. In a few years time, I could look at my lovely wife as an equal again. And live in a perpetual state of hedonistic joy. We've got the money. And to protect myself from being abused by mature women, I've written this manifesto. It's very convincing. I'm quite proud of it. It's a treatise on why the Forever Youngs shouldn't sleep with the mature folks. I got a professional voice actor to record it, and put it to a montage of inspirational video and pictures. It's light on science, but explains everything I've discovered from years of experience watching how these relationships emotionally smash the Forever Youngs. I really think, if I were to listen to it every morning, if it came on automatically and I was made to watch it, my wife too--- maybe if we were to watch to it every morning, maybe we could resist the sophisticated manipulations of the mature people. So that would be a way of keeping myself emotionally sane as a Forever Young. Maybe we could make it a condition of getting our trust money every month.
But then I've got this other thought. If I were to disseminate this video- if everyone were made to watch it every morning, if I could write that into legislation somehow...maybe I could really turn the tide. Maybe I could fix this. But I would need time, I would need all of my intelligence and maturity, and I would need all of my money, to make something like that happen.
I lift the bottle again. I unscrew the lid. I consider tipping a pill into my hand. I look at the clock. 4:57pm. I also see 24 missed calls from my lovely, perpetually teenaged, insecure wife. To take the pill or not take the pill? Three minutes to decide.
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It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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(This is my first attempt at one of these so please be honest. c: )
I remember the days leading up towards the release of Lazurix. Seemingly out of nowhere this obscure German pharmaceutical company announced with no care, or an inability to do so in regards to the pandemonium that it would cause, that they had developed a working pill that would suspend the aging process indefinitely. Suddenly everyone knew about it. Youtube channels were sponsored by them, advertisements and illustrations in the paper were inescapable.
My family were ecstatic, they saw this as a way to rectify the sins of their past, pause existence at their current age and focus life onto the now. I however, like so many, questioned the ethics. I visited care homes and nurseries to weight in the odds and evens of this choice. But eventually I decided against it. It felt too strange, wrong even.
Upon release, Pretty much everybody took Lazurix. At £50 pounds a pop, everybody made sacrifices to obtain a supply, friends quit smoking, others drinking. The prospect of eternal life was far more appealing than mortal vices. The tobacco and alcohol industries crashed, and new versions of this wonder drug started appearing in stores. Chewy sweet ones for children, suppository versions for the less abled, and even pet versions. It seemed in those days everyone was going to live forever into the golden age of mankind, and everyone proclaimed Für-Immer pharmaceuticals true saints of mankind for it.
That image lasted for about 10 years.
After a decade of the global consumption of this miracle drug, the problems started when the world started noticing that people who took Lazurix were beginning to develop paler skin and hair tones than they used to have before, even those whose heritage lay deep within the African continent. Much of the world simply didn't care, hair dye demand simply rose, and make up soon slipped into full social acceptability among men. Yet, while we all laughed with our fathers and brothers new found love of foundation, the governments at large began to frown at these developments.
I suppose it was the skin cancers that finally woke the world to it's folly. Slowly yet surely whenever the demand of Lazurix went, great spikes in malignant tumours soon followed. Medical examinations of suffers concluded simply. Users skin was thinning, and as a result, the Sun and her ever present heat began to take it's effect on this new world. The people panicked, the world demanded answers and all clues pointed to the same answer. Für-Immer and their wonder drug. The defence they would later give was cryptic and and unsatisfactory. In time their offices would be raided and their laboratories confiscated. The world abandoned the drug, but the effects would forever continue.
With sorrowed eyes I watched my family slip into great illness. The make up soon struggled to truly hide the truth that pale, semi transparent white skin told, they had made a grave mistake in trying to cheat death. I bore terrible witness to seeing my Sister transform from an athletic, olympian hopeful, to a shambling ghoul whose skin blistered at the radiation of our star. My Mother and Father met identical fates.
The years continued onwards and I found myself one of few humans in a ghostly world. The effects of Lazurix continued. Decreased mental acuity, stiffness of the limbs, aversion to light of all intensities were just some of many. Those of us left unaffected simply called this condition "Whiteout". These human beings were shells devoid of thought or functionality. Most died of starvation with food now a scarcity given that most of humanity was unable to function machines the likes of tractors. But my kind, the ones untouched by that virulent drug lived on with our aged yet still able bodies, knowing that the great irony of all that had transpired was that in the end, the immortality that the world craved so desperately came at the cost of their own lives.
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It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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"Don't grow old," I say, bending over and feeling the crick in my back. My vision's going and my knees have been killing me. "It's not worth it."
They laugh, Edmund, Ray, and Jenna laugh, or at least I think they do. They're immortal now, all cell division ceased, all cells basically merged into one. They don't age, they won't die, probably. They're like amoebas, like jellyfish. On one hand, it's horrifying, but on the other hand, they're incredibly easy to take care of. I don't even need to feed them, they just ooze along the floor translucently.
Sometimes I think maybe I should have taken the pill. They seem happy, I guess, insofar amoebas can be happy. Anyway, what's the point of being one of the last human on earth? It's a lousy consolation prize. But it's too late now. I've already aged far too much for it to be worth it. I lie back on my chair. Jenna or Edmund or Ray slithers up and envelops my hand.
"Do you regret it?" I ask them. "It'd be fucking awful if you regretted it. Imagine a whole world living with regret, being unable to change, being unable to grow past it. Just a - just a protoplasmic blob of regret." I touch my own wrinkled face. "There's regret, sure," I say, tracing a line. "And there's joy, and there's sorrow, and there's love and there's pain and there's loneliness and there's anticipation. And there's - there's the sense that it was worth it, maybe."
Edmund or Ray or Jenna burbles. They're happy, I decide. I've been projecting. They're happy and placid and forever, ever young. I will die and rot and go back into the ground, and they will rule over the Earth. I watch the light go through them and become prismatic. And if I had to grow old, out of pure sheer stubbornness, if I had to grow old and die, well, at least I got to see this come to pass. I lie back and sit, and Edmund and Ray and Jenna all sit with me.
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It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
|
I was 19 when MiraLifeTM was discovered. The TVs in every electronics store were all playing the news of this lovely young couple working on their PhDs in biology together. Anna and Tom Mabel. They had "cured aging," as all the reporters put it. They put that cure in a little orange pill. The government took three years to approve it, but by the time I was 22, it was available to the public.
I was as afraid of death as anyone else, so I spent every penny I had to get it. It was very inexpensive for what it did, but janitors don't make much. I figured I'd have four times as long to make the money back, so it wasn't a problem. Totally forgot about also needing to buy food for four times as long. I'm not a brilliant mathematician, but I do work the night shift cleaning a school, so if you believe the movies that's pretty close.
The next morning after work, as I sat alone in my cramped studio apartment with a coffee-stained mug of water, I thought of how I would change my life. With all the time I'd have, I could study and get my GED, maybe even go to community college. I looked out my sole rusty window, split by metal bars like a prison cell. It was flush against the ceiling as my apartment was largely underground. Just across the street I saw the abandoned church I lived in for over a decade, stealing food when I couldn't find enough in the local garbage cans. I had already changed my life so much, but I had plans to do so much more. A wave of relief came over me as I placed the pill in my mouth, as if all my hardship would soon be over. I brought the mug to my chapped lips and drank.
When I woke that evening I felt ten years younger. I suppose that's weird for a 22 year old to say, but I just felt great. I knew that my life was going to change in a spectacular way because of this pill. I was right.
*************************************************
I'm almost 60 now. I'm one of the richest people on Earth. Third, in fact. The first and second are the couple that invented MiraLifeTM. They spend all of it on private security though. You need to when you're the most hated people in history. I should probably explain how the scientists who quadrupled the human lifespan are so greatly reviled. It turns out MiraLifeTM had an unexpected side-effect. After about 20 years, it makes men sterile. They didn't know, so I don't think it's really fair to blame them, but I've benefitted greatly from it so I may be biased. How has this benefitted me, someone who spent everything he had to get the pill? After a few years, I realized I was still aging. I saw a doctor and he told me I was "immune". He didn't do any tests or anything. He just figured it was the only way I could still be aging. It turned out to be something much more simple. I was tricked. I was sold a fake. I don't know what it was, but it certainly didn't stop me from aging. Everyone at work noticed, as I was getting older four times faster than they were. It's hard to miss something like that.
When people started to realize all the men were sterile, there was panic. I stayed inside for most of it and don't have a TV, so I'm not really sure what happened. It wasn't good though.
One day I heard a knock on my door. It was a man in a suit. He said Mr. And Mrs. Green wanted to speak to me. Jack and Courtney Green were the owners of the school I had stayed up every night for the past few decades to clean. They had heard rumors that I was still aging. They wanted a child and offered me a huge sum to father one. I was 45 at the time and not sure I even could. A doctor was there already, waiting to test me and give me some kind of fertility treatment.
Fifteen years later, the world's third richest man is a 60 year old janitor-turned-gigolo, father of more children than Genghis Khan. That pill certainly did change my life.
*************************************************
It seems my male children aren't totally sterile, but are far less fertile than they should be. Most will never have kids and the ones that do will only have a few. Probably because their mothers took MiraLifeTM. Scientists have been working on it, but no luck yet. I'm getting old. I'm going to die soon. I don't want to. If I took MiraLifeTM now, I could live another hundred years. At least, that's what my doctor told me after I pressed him. He also told me that if I took it at my age, even with all the fertility treatments I'm on, id be sterile in months. That would be bad news for the human race. But I really don't want to die. Not now, when I have so much. Just think of what I could do with more time!
*************************************************
I snuck away from my security detail. I'm sitting on the rotted old mattress of the tiny apartment I called home for so long. I kept it all this time. I don't know why. I take a long gulp from my mug and swallow the pill in my mouth. I'm sorry. I'm afraid to die.
|
It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
|
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[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
|
'Fountain of Youth' was released in the late autumn of 2030. It had undergone rigorous testing, was boycotted my numerous religious groups, and had taken years to be approved by the majority of the world's various drug administration agencies. It boasted a 100% success rate in multiple trials, totalling 5000 trial patients - it seemed too good to be true.
Despite all the troubles, the drug came on the market on November 21st, 2030, in various locations around the world. The allure of never ageing created a rush towards pharmacies the likes of which had never been seen before. Sure, cancer had been cured, but this was different. It took six hours to sell all of the 200 million pills that had entered the market. Smith&Smith&Smith's market value soared in one day. Four months later, 800 million pills entered the market, and were sold in four hours, breaking the firm's previous record. By 2032, 98% of the world's population had bought and consumed the drug.
Its effects were astonishing: taking one pill at age 80 gave its user the appearance and health of a 50 year-old. Taking a second pill reduced the age down to approximately 35 years, and taking a third pill put the user in their mid-20s.
Soon enough, the world started to realise that this new-found youth meant they needed a world to live in. Disbelief in climate changed dropped dramatically, and environmental consciousness was on the rise. For the first time in decades, we see actual reductions in pollution, and the active change was seen and felt. The world was looking better than ever. It did not last long.
I was one of the few people who had decided not to take the drug. I was already in my mid-20s and honestly didn't really care about ageing - sure, I didn't want to look 'wrinkly' and lose my health and stamina, but it just hadn't affected me at the time. As it would turn out, not taking the pill was the right decision. The side-effects of the pill started to make their appearance eight years after the launch: the technically eldest started to develop coughs. At first, it was attributed to their body's difficulty in understanding that it was young again. However, this theory was rapidly dismissed when the 'eldest' starting coughing blood. Widespread rashes followed the coughs, as did general waves of panic. Consumers of the drug started to rush in hospitals, asking to get tested for the unknown affliction. The eldest started to turn blue and purple, losing their fingers, and, successively, all of their limbs. Fear was at an all-time high, and it worsened when the middle-aged started to show the same symptoms. To their disease was added hydrophobia and fainting spells. Death was quick to follow. None of it made any sense whatsoever. Tests had been performed, trials undergone - Fountain of Youth was deemed safe, and yet, here we were.
The population of the world dwindled, fear completely took over our lives, and paranoia was constant. Those who looked to be in their mid-20s were assumed to be consumers of the pill, and were quickly hunted down. It was estimated that three million people were left on Earth, with this number falling weekly. Somehow, the disease that had affected the consumers of the pill - whom we now called 'Youthers' - had mutated to affect those who hadn't. It had been three years since the disease had manifested itself, and since then, not a single child was born. Animosity towards Smith&Smith&Smith had become pure hatred. How could they do this to us? By what right could they defy laws of biology and human nature?
It took three months for rumours to be addressed: out of the rubble of humankind came a group of environmental 'terrorists', claiming to have caused the near-total wipeout of humans through the creation of 'Fountain of Youth'. Nuova Terra had one goal: rid the Earth of humans so that nature and its dependants could 'truly' live again. And they had succeeded.
|
It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
|
|
[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
|
During the development phase, the drug was given the code name Rx-Infinity. The media would try to get inside scoops as to what it was, and what it was supposed to do. There wasn't this much coverage on a drug or it's research in a long time. You would have thought it was a cure for cancer... But it was so much more than that.
When it finally arrived, the drug was simply called "miracle". Scientists were showing lab results, and how mice who were given the drug were still alive 5 years later. This was about 5x longer than most mice in captivity, and they were still going strong. The mice still had all of their senses and were acting just as they did when they were 4 months old.
It was also shown to heal the sick, allow the lame to walk, and restore the mental health of those who had gone insane. It truly was a miracle... but as a scientist who worked on it, I had my reservations. I felt my colleagues were too optimistic, and they had become biased toward the success of the drug due to the push of the media. "It had to succeed, it will change the world, and we'll be famous."
We were playing god, and when humans played god and got prideful, it never ended well.
I tried to keep observation of the mice over the years, but per order of the higher ups, the mice were destroyed. My boss tried to explain it to me saying the tests were a success, and they were no longer needed. Everyone in the lab was volunteering to be the human test subjects. I still had my doubts, so I settled to observe the "larger test subjects" I was working with.
Most people in the civilized world were now taking Miracle. Culture changed. Miracle kept showing how powerful it was out in society. The most striking change I saw was how obesity was now a thing of the past. It appeared to raise the metabolism in these individuals, melt the fat, and allow the person to excrete it as waste.
Over the years, the Olympic games were renamed to the Miracle games, as Athletes in their 50's and 60's were competing against those in their 20's. Miracle was the great equalizer in society... I still refused to take it, even though it had been out in the public for 20 years now. I still had my doubts. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something just wasn't right.
When I hit the age of 55, Miracle had been on the market for 35 years... and my patience finally paid off. I was in the lab early that particular day. I was hard at work at my station, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl. She looked to be about 15 or 16. She sat down at Margaret's desk and started to power on the computer.
Perplexed, I asked the young lady if she was lost.
"Oh, Jim. You're so funny. I know I have been out on a 6 month sabbatical, but you should still recognise your co-worker."
The teen entered in Margaret's password, and finished up the boot process for the computer and started checking e-mail. I just slowly turned and smiled to myself.
--------------------------------------
I'm now 75 years old, Miracle has been out for 55 years now. My nickname around the lab is Father Time. Yes, I have gotten up in years, but my work is still not complete. Everyone who has been taking Miracle now has the body of a child. They all look to be somewhere between 3 and 6 years old. They still have their intellect, so it is amusing to watch these children go about the daily life of adults. They have tried to stop taking the drug, but from what I have seen, the withdrawal is too much for them. They start throwing temper tantrums, fitting for their small bodies, until they receive the drug.
I just hope to see what happens before I die... Yes, I may die soon, but these people, what will happen to them? My hypothesis is they will simply vanish someday, and they will simply be remembered as a sparkle in someone's eye.
|
It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
|
|
[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
|
'Fountain of Youth' was released in the late autumn of 2030. It had undergone rigorous testing, was boycotted my numerous religious groups, and had taken years to be approved by the majority of the world's various drug administration agencies. It boasted a 100% success rate in multiple trials, totalling 5000 trial patients - it seemed too good to be true.
Despite all the troubles, the drug came on the market on November 21st, 2030, in various locations around the world. The allure of never ageing created a rush towards pharmacies the likes of which had never been seen before. Sure, cancer had been cured, but this was different. It took six hours to sell all of the 200 million pills that had entered the market. Smith&Smith&Smith's market value soared in one day. Four months later, 800 million pills entered the market, and were sold in four hours, breaking the firm's previous record. By 2032, 98% of the world's population had bought and consumed the drug.
Its effects were astonishing: taking one pill at age 80 gave its user the appearance and health of a 50 year-old. Taking a second pill reduced the age down to approximately 35 years, and taking a third pill put the user in their mid-20s.
Soon enough, the world started to realise that this new-found youth meant they needed a world to live in. Disbelief in climate changed dropped dramatically, and environmental consciousness was on the rise. For the first time in decades, we see actual reductions in pollution, and the active change was seen and felt. The world was looking better than ever. It did not last long.
I was one of the few people who had decided not to take the drug. I was already in my mid-20s and honestly didn't really care about ageing - sure, I didn't want to look 'wrinkly' and lose my health and stamina, but it just hadn't affected me at the time. As it would turn out, not taking the pill was the right decision. The side-effects of the pill started to make their appearance eight years after the launch: the technically eldest started to develop coughs. At first, it was attributed to their body's difficulty in understanding that it was young again. However, this theory was rapidly dismissed when the 'eldest' starting coughing blood. Widespread rashes followed the coughs, as did general waves of panic. Consumers of the drug started to rush in hospitals, asking to get tested for the unknown affliction. The eldest started to turn blue and purple, losing their fingers, and, successively, all of their limbs. Fear was at an all-time high, and it worsened when the middle-aged started to show the same symptoms. To their disease was added hydrophobia and fainting spells. Death was quick to follow. None of it made any sense whatsoever. Tests had been performed, trials undergone - Fountain of Youth was deemed safe, and yet, here we were.
The population of the world dwindled, fear completely took over our lives, and paranoia was constant. Those who looked to be in their mid-20s were assumed to be consumers of the pill, and were quickly hunted down. It was estimated that three million people were left on Earth, with this number falling weekly. Somehow, the disease that had affected the consumers of the pill - whom we now called 'Youthers' - had mutated to affect those who hadn't. It had been three years since the disease had manifested itself, and since then, not a single child was born. Animosity towards Smith&Smith&Smith had become pure hatred. How could they do this to us? By what right could they defy laws of biology and human nature?
It took three months for rumours to be addressed: out of the rubble of humankind came a group of environmental 'terrorists', claiming to have caused the near-total wipeout of humans through the creation of 'Fountain of Youth'. Nuova Terra had one goal: rid the Earth of humans so that nature and its dependants could 'truly' live again. And they had succeeded.
|
I was 19 when MiraLifeTM was discovered. The TVs in every electronics store were all playing the news of this lovely young couple working on their PhDs in biology together. Anna and Tom Mabel. They had "cured aging," as all the reporters put it. They put that cure in a little orange pill. The government took three years to approve it, but by the time I was 22, it was available to the public.
I was as afraid of death as anyone else, so I spent every penny I had to get it. It was very inexpensive for what it did, but janitors don't make much. I figured I'd have four times as long to make the money back, so it wasn't a problem. Totally forgot about also needing to buy food for four times as long. I'm not a brilliant mathematician, but I do work the night shift cleaning a school, so if you believe the movies that's pretty close.
The next morning after work, as I sat alone in my cramped studio apartment with a coffee-stained mug of water, I thought of how I would change my life. With all the time I'd have, I could study and get my GED, maybe even go to community college. I looked out my sole rusty window, split by metal bars like a prison cell. It was flush against the ceiling as my apartment was largely underground. Just across the street I saw the abandoned church I lived in for over a decade, stealing food when I couldn't find enough in the local garbage cans. I had already changed my life so much, but I had plans to do so much more. A wave of relief came over me as I placed the pill in my mouth, as if all my hardship would soon be over. I brought the mug to my chapped lips and drank.
When I woke that evening I felt ten years younger. I suppose that's weird for a 22 year old to say, but I just felt great. I knew that my life was going to change in a spectacular way because of this pill. I was right.
*************************************************
I'm almost 60 now. I'm one of the richest people on Earth. Third, in fact. The first and second are the couple that invented MiraLifeTM. They spend all of it on private security though. You need to when you're the most hated people in history. I should probably explain how the scientists who quadrupled the human lifespan are so greatly reviled. It turns out MiraLifeTM had an unexpected side-effect. After about 20 years, it makes men sterile. They didn't know, so I don't think it's really fair to blame them, but I've benefitted greatly from it so I may be biased. How has this benefitted me, someone who spent everything he had to get the pill? After a few years, I realized I was still aging. I saw a doctor and he told me I was "immune". He didn't do any tests or anything. He just figured it was the only way I could still be aging. It turned out to be something much more simple. I was tricked. I was sold a fake. I don't know what it was, but it certainly didn't stop me from aging. Everyone at work noticed, as I was getting older four times faster than they were. It's hard to miss something like that.
When people started to realize all the men were sterile, there was panic. I stayed inside for most of it and don't have a TV, so I'm not really sure what happened. It wasn't good though.
One day I heard a knock on my door. It was a man in a suit. He said Mr. And Mrs. Green wanted to speak to me. Jack and Courtney Green were the owners of the school I had stayed up every night for the past few decades to clean. They had heard rumors that I was still aging. They wanted a child and offered me a huge sum to father one. I was 45 at the time and not sure I even could. A doctor was there already, waiting to test me and give me some kind of fertility treatment.
Fifteen years later, the world's third richest man is a 60 year old janitor-turned-gigolo, father of more children than Genghis Khan. That pill certainly did change my life.
*************************************************
It seems my male children aren't totally sterile, but are far less fertile than they should be. Most will never have kids and the ones that do will only have a few. Probably because their mothers took MiraLifeTM. Scientists have been working on it, but no luck yet. I'm getting old. I'm going to die soon. I don't want to. If I took MiraLifeTM now, I could live another hundred years. At least, that's what my doctor told me after I pressed him. He also told me that if I took it at my age, even with all the fertility treatments I'm on, id be sterile in months. That would be bad news for the human race. But I really don't want to die. Not now, when I have so much. Just think of what I could do with more time!
*************************************************
I snuck away from my security detail. I'm sitting on the rotted old mattress of the tiny apartment I called home for so long. I kept it all this time. I don't know why. I take a long gulp from my mug and swallow the pill in my mouth. I'm sorry. I'm afraid to die.
|
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Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
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[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
I knew after Edgar there wouldn't be another man. We were true soul mates, shared our college days together, survived a war, and saw our beautiful daughter grow up.
I wear the ring as a reminder of his legacy. We could always feel each other's heartbeats.
Today I felt his heart beat, the pulse made me smile.
Edgar stood where he always stood when he was about to head out the door.
"It is time to go Constance."
|
I felt it. Small, almost ethereal, but unmistakable.
*It was her.*
My drink fell to the floor. I clutched my hand, my ring. How... how could she be..?
*My keys.*
I need to get to her. To save her.
Like I never could before.
Speeding through the darkness. That faint pulse. Every beat giving me renewed hope, making me drive faster and faster. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know she's there.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken, as hers seems to grow fainter and fainter. I must get to her, get her out of that damned prison.
*I'll dig her out with my bare hands.*
Please God, just let me get to her.
I turn, drifting around the corner. I'm losing control.
But I'm so close. I can almost feel her.
Bright lights flash. I swerve. I feel weightless, as if I'm floating through the air.
Like I'm flying towards her.
****
*And the ring's heartbeat grew ever faint, then beat no more.*
|
Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
|
[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
I had really screwed up this time.
God knows why I kept that ring; I had plenty of other reminders of what I had lost and what had been taken from me. But some part of me, some stupid, masochistic part of me, wanted to cling to it as a reminder of what could've been. Of what had almost been. I wish I hadn't. I wish I had gotten rid of the ring back when I first found out the truth.
This morning I had been running more than a little late to a very big meeting with a new client. I had barely enough time to run through my morning cleansing program before Martha let me know I had five minutes. I had been about to run out the door, trusting my ironically named home AI to close and lock it behind me, when I realized I had forgotten my ID ring. The one that allowed me access into my own office.
It had a simple design, unlike my other bejeweled accessories, with nothing but an engraving of my employee number to decorate its smooth, sleek surface. My fingers would easily be able to tell it apart from my other rings.
I backtracked to my bedroom, rifling through my old fashioned jewelry box in the dark, as Martha had already powered the lights down for the work day. I had programmed her to do so to save out on the exorbitant electricity bills that usually KO-ed me at the end of every month.
Blood pumping and adrenaline pushing me to get my arse out of my flat, I shoved the engraved ring I found onto the middle finger on my right hand, as always. Letting my sensors check to make sure the premises was clear, I hobbled out to the garage, ring secure on my finger and heels half-way on my feet. It wasn't until I successfully hopped into my transport pod and my heart rate began to slow that I realized the racing beats I felt weren't my own.
My heart began to palpitate furiously once again as horror flooded my veins. I squeezed my eyes shut in denial as my other fingers slowly ran over what I had rashly shoved onto my finger. Even though I already knew what I was going to find, I let my traitorous hands confirm their mistake.
They felt eight different numbers carved into the ring's surface. 02142024. The numbers engraved onto the ring were 02142024. My employee number was sixteen digits. Further, I knew those eight digits. I knew this racing, excited heartbeat that wasn't my own. I knew that if I could feel him, he could feel me. I knew he was still wearing my ring instead of putting it away with the others because I had been the one that got away. I knew he was going to find me and finish what he had started. I knew that unless I did something to stop it, he was going to make sure my heart stopped beating, and my heart ring joined that collection of his. I knew my fiancé knew I had never died.
|
I felt it. Small, almost ethereal, but unmistakable.
*It was her.*
My drink fell to the floor. I clutched my hand, my ring. How... how could she be..?
*My keys.*
I need to get to her. To save her.
Like I never could before.
Speeding through the darkness. That faint pulse. Every beat giving me renewed hope, making me drive faster and faster. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know she's there.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken, as hers seems to grow fainter and fainter. I must get to her, get her out of that damned prison.
*I'll dig her out with my bare hands.*
Please God, just let me get to her.
I turn, drifting around the corner. I'm losing control.
But I'm so close. I can almost feel her.
Bright lights flash. I swerve. I feel weightless, as if I'm floating through the air.
Like I'm flying towards her.
****
*And the ring's heartbeat grew ever faint, then beat no more.*
|
Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
|
[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
"Why'd I join?" He paused, debating how much to share. "I didn't know what else to do." Staring down at his dry hands, he kept eye contact with the ring. "I was alone. I needed a family again. I needed a purpose."
"That's deep, Sarge."
He immediately regretted joining them. He could feel his squad staring, waiting for more details, but he couldn't bear to look up. Instead, he focused all his energy on the ring. It was the only thing that got him through.
"That's enough for tonight, boys." Sergeant Dave Compton took his leave of the bunk. As he shuffled outside, he took a moment to reflect on her, Amy. They'd been together seven years. Back then, Amy had insisted on a heartbeat ring. They were all the rage at the time. In each set came two rings, each with a tiny sensor that sent a signal with the heartbeat of the wearer to the other ring. You could feel your loved one's heart all the time. At first, he thought it was stupid, but even he had to admit that, during long nights at his old job, there were moments it was the only thing that had gotten him through.
Then, the accident happened. That night, he was still at the office. It was two in the morning, and Amy was just on her way home from work. She never saw him. A drunk driver smashed her driver side door in. Amy hadn't survived. Dave remembered feeling her heart stop. He remembered the panic he felt as he tried to call her, the ring company, then the police. He had stayed up the whole night searching for answers, only to find the one he hadn't wanted.
Didn't take long until he realized he needed to do something drastic. The Army seemed like the right kind of place. He left it all behind, his job, his house, even his family, save for the ring. Sometimes, he swore he could still feel something, still feel her. It was all he had.
"What in the hell?" There were bright lights flashing in the sky beyond the bunker. Smoke began to rise closer than was comfortable. The world filled with the deep growl of explosives, with the sharp pop of gunfire.
He ran back to the bunker to rouse his men, and they were already frantically gearing up. "What is it Sarge?"
"Damned if I know, just get. . ." As he turned to take another look, his hearing went out and he felt his body slam to the floor.
"Sarge!" The rogue grenade had exploded just in range of him. Shrapnel was lodged in his legs, his arms, his chest. Blood slowly began to pour from the tears in his uniform.
"Grab the med kit!" His squad slowly uncovered the sand from his face. "Stay still, Dave. You're going to make it."
He wasn't so sure. The shock was wearing off and now all he felt was pain. The medic was working on his chest. He could feel the metal moving inside his flesh.
"Stay with us, Dave. Nurse, keep pressure there." Did they just call him "Dave"? They'd only ever called him Sarge. In any event, it wasn't like he was going to pull rank lying on the ground with the contents of a grenade lodged in the front of him.
He tried to speak. He tried to let them know he was ok, but he wasn't. The voices started to come in and out. He tried to listen. Everything was suddenly very bright.
"Dad!" A voice rang out. "No!" Being called "Dad" was weirder still than Dave. At this stage, maybe he wasn't thinking straight. His hearing must have been off. It made sense. He could feel a hunk of shrapnel lodged around his ear.
Then, he felt something other than pain, something familiar. Weak at first, and slow. But it was unmistakeable. The ring was pulsing. "Amy!"
"He's hallucinating. More morphine." No he wasn't. It was there. He could feel it.
"Amy!" She was alive. He knew she was alive. It was unmistakeable. Seven years. He had felt that heartbeat for seven years. It was her. "Amy!"
"We're losing him!"
"Dave!"
The doctor dropped his mask from his face, wiped his brow and turned to his family. There was nothing more that he could do.
|
I felt it. Small, almost ethereal, but unmistakable.
*It was her.*
My drink fell to the floor. I clutched my hand, my ring. How... how could she be..?
*My keys.*
I need to get to her. To save her.
Like I never could before.
Speeding through the darkness. That faint pulse. Every beat giving me renewed hope, making me drive faster and faster. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know she's there.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken, as hers seems to grow fainter and fainter. I must get to her, get her out of that damned prison.
*I'll dig her out with my bare hands.*
Please God, just let me get to her.
I turn, drifting around the corner. I'm losing control.
But I'm so close. I can almost feel her.
Bright lights flash. I swerve. I feel weightless, as if I'm floating through the air.
Like I'm flying towards her.
****
*And the ring's heartbeat grew ever faint, then beat no more.*
|
Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
|
[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
I remember the day like it was yesterday. The day I purposed to the love of my life. I had been watching the weather forecast. I was waiting, waiting for the day of the first snow of the season. We lived in a section of the country where snow was uncommon, but not completely unexpected.
It was a cold day in November, and the forecast showed snow up in the mountains. I had the ring already, I just needed the day to come.
We went up to the hills, and it was a winter wonderland. We got out of the truck and started up a path, her hand in mine. She knew something was up… my hand was trembling from anticipation.
I couldn’t take it anymore, I got down on one knee, and popped the question. She covered her mouth with her hands. Her blue eyes sparkled as the snow danced around her. She nodded her head, and then tackled me into the snow drift. This was the best day of my life.
I had bought a special set of rings. Rings that would detect the heartbeat of the other, no matter the distance between us. We smiled as we wore them together, sensing every heartbeat of the other. We were one, we were complete.
A week went by. Every night, as we laid in our own beds in separate apartments across town, I would focus on the ring and her heartbeat. It soothed me. I knew the day would come in which we would be living together for the rest of our days.
But the day never came… A month after the best day of my life, came the worst day of my life. I was at work, a project deadline was approaching and we were busy. It had become routine to focus on her heartbeat during breaks… but it wasn’t there today. It was an empty void that day. I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.
*ring, ring*
I kept thinking, “Pick up the phone.” “Please just pick up the phone.”
*ring, ring*
“Hello”
“Thank God you answered your phone I thought yo-“
“You have reached the Voicemail of Sarah. I can’t come to the phone right now…”
I dialed her number several more times after that, and every time it went to voicemail. Every time my heart sank into lower levels of stress and anxiety.
I found out later she was hit by a drunk driver. She was dead at the scene… The love of my life was gone, just like a candle blown out by the wind.
I had permission from her parents to bury her with the ring I gave her. I knew I would never feel her heartbeat again. I knew she was gone… But I wanted the love I gave her to be buried with her. It gave me peace, knowing she could still feel my heartbeat. I was living for the both of us now, and I would carry on her memory.
-------------------------------------------------
The years passed. I grieved for the love of my life. My friends were worried about me, and how I was distancing myself from them. Could you blame me? She was gone. My dreams of the happy life and growing old with her were ripped away from our hands. I was an empty shell now.
At the advice of my counselor, I got myself a dog. He said caring for something else may help me with the grief, and moving on. I got a black lab, and I named her Duchess. She slowly opened my cold heart back up and made me realize there was still a world out there. Even if my life had taken an abrupt turn, there was still life to live.
One day, I took Duchess to a local dog park. It was an unusually cold day at the park, and only one other person was there. She was playing with a collie. The woman was beautiful. I couldn’t stop staring.
**Ba-dump**
I took up some courage and started to approach her. I have grieved long enough, right?
**Ba-dump**
I had to move on with my life again. Right?
**Ba-dump**
I felt this feeling before. The day I first laid eyes on Sarah. The day I asked her out on the first date. The day I purposed to her up in the hills, with the snowflakes dancing around us.
**Ba-dump**
My heart was beating with anticipation of a new beginning.
**Ba-dump**
I Froze. This isn’t just my heart beating… Sarah?
**Ba-dump**
I looked at the ring, I felt the heartbeat. It was faint, but it was there. I looked back up at the woman playing with her dog and felt it again.
**Ba-dump**
That was the last time I ever felt the heartbeat. It was like a gentle nudge, telling me it was ok to move on. To take the chance, and live again.
I started to approach the woman again. “Ummm… hi. My name is Sean, would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”
She smiled at me, it was radiant. “Hi Sean, I’m Tracy, and I would love to get some coffee.”
We leashed our dogs and started to head to the nearest coffee shop. As we stepped foot out of the park, something caught my eye. “Would you look at that, it’s the first snow of the season.”
|
I felt it. Small, almost ethereal, but unmistakable.
*It was her.*
My drink fell to the floor. I clutched my hand, my ring. How... how could she be..?
*My keys.*
I need to get to her. To save her.
Like I never could before.
Speeding through the darkness. That faint pulse. Every beat giving me renewed hope, making me drive faster and faster. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know she's there.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken, as hers seems to grow fainter and fainter. I must get to her, get her out of that damned prison.
*I'll dig her out with my bare hands.*
Please God, just let me get to her.
I turn, drifting around the corner. I'm losing control.
But I'm so close. I can almost feel her.
Bright lights flash. I swerve. I feel weightless, as if I'm floating through the air.
Like I'm flying towards her.
****
*And the ring's heartbeat grew ever faint, then beat no more.*
|
Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
|
[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
When the rings that let you feel your lover’s heartbeat in real-time came out, you know the ones, they were a flash in the pan. Huge fad that picked up fast and hard, all the hip couples got them and raved about how their special so-and-so was having such a hard meeting at work in the middle of the day or bemoan how stressful work must have been with so high a heart rate all day.
Turns out that special so-and-so just had it hard for the secretary, and with stamina to match a teenager’s.
Like most fads, it died out as quickly as it had started.
But, my wife and I had enjoyed the novelty of the idea. We’d picked up some of the higher end rings, called the HBR, as the enthusiasm died away and prices plummeted. We weren’t often apart, in the early years of our marriage, so it was something we’d joke about while running or playing games together. In fact, mine gave me away more than once while we played Catan with our friends. Sometimes I’m still salty over her stealing the longest road out from under when she’d noticed my heartrate spiked and I’d grinned just so slightly.
Clever girl.
But as our lives progressed and circumstances changed, it became more and more frequent for one or the other of us to be gone for weeks at a time. I got a job as a quality and safety inspector for our nation’s leading poultry producer, my wife became a renowned yogi – helluva thing, right? A renowned *yogi*. – and would go to yoga conventions around the world to… discuss yoga, I guess.
I never really picked up her enthusiasm for yoga. Irked her to no end.
She was always telling me I needed to do it for my health. For my peace of mind, too. Find my center, weather any external storm. That sort of stuff. But I always said the same thing when she brought it up: “I’m a runner, darlin’,” I’d grin real wide and stretch out my long legs or hop in place, “Born to run, just like The Boss.”
She’d huff, but smile since it wasn’t a lie. I ran track in high school. I ran more than a few marathons, too. And she always said I had a steady heart when I ran. Pumped harder, and a little faster, but steady. Just like I run, just like I lived, and just like I loved her. Steady. Strong. Constant.
And that’s why I liked the rings. I always had to snuggle up to her when we were home together, even if I did it while I was asleep. And I mean *while* I was asleep. I’d face the walls sometimes, just ‘cause it was too hot to be smashed against one another and sleep, but we’d wake up in a tangled heap because the boy who’s born to run can’t go one sleep without wrapping up his wife or all the blankets and pillows. Or both. So, if she was gone and I was alone at home, I could still feel her. I’d wake up and have my hand pressed against my chest in the mess of pillows. Like in my sleep I’d needed to feel her heart beat against my own. The pace keeper, when you’re warming up or training through. Despite herself, too, she’d eventually loved them for that same reason. A world away in a strange bed, she’d told me, she would sleep sounder because that strong and steady heart of mine was there to make her feel at home.
It was about ten years ago she died. It was a Saturday. She’d been in Europe for a couple weeks for a yoga circuit, having a right roaring time meditating and stretching. At least, that’s how I always liked to put it. She was on her way to the airport and been T-boned by a guy on a motorcycle. One of those zippy, Japanese kinds that make a noise like an angry wasp if it were amplified louder than you’d ever need. I was working on a computer for one of my friend’s kids, since we never had our own and I was good with building the things, when it happened.
I really didn’t even understand what it was, at first. I was soldering a couple wires in place when my hand started to shake. At first I just set the iron on its stand and walked out to the deck, getting a breath of fresh air.
But my hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
I massaged it and drank a tall glass of water, thinking maybe it was starting to cramp up, but it still wouldn’t stop.
When I realized it, I almost fell out of my chair.
Her heartbeat was gone.
I texted her and asked, “Did you take your ring off to wash your hands and forget about it? ;)”
I thought she’d respond right away, waiting at the airport. I knew when the flight was supposed to take off, and she always let me know if there were delays. But she didn’t respond.
It’s not my place to bore you with the details of me finding out she was gone. Really, all I need to tell you is I found out she’d never respond again.
We got together our meagre family, which was really just hers since mine were all dead and gone, and a helluvalot of our friends. God, she even had people from her yoga studies and seminars at her funeral. And people passed me by at the wake and said their condolences, all the while I sat and spun the ring on my finger that would never relay my pace keeper’s rhythm. We buried her at sea, that was in her will. She’d always said to be calm as the peaceful ocean during her sessions, which didn’t make a lick of sense to me. Ever seen a hurricane? Opposite of calm and peaceful.
I never took the ring off. Just like all the love stories you hear of old men wearing their wedding band after their wives died because taking it off made them feel naked, alone, and scared. Taking my HBR off made me feel all those things worse than I did with it. I would fiddle with the thing all the time, hoping it wasn’t really how things were. Idly, really, but it was my subconscious’ way of telling me something wasn’t right. Something was never right. Because I was running a race without an end, without a pace, and without a friend. No relay, no finish, no rest stations. Just a baton on my finger that said I’d been running and had to keep going. That’s how the ten years since her death went. Ten years of constantly fiddling. Ten years of constantly knowing something just wasn’t quite right.
It’s been a few weeks since I felt the thing again. Since I felt her steady heart on my finger.
I’ve not stopped looking for her.
I can’t stop looking for her.
I know she’s down there.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
I can feel her heart beat.
**Edit:** Thanks to everyone for the comments! I wrapped this up because I had a meeting, so I didn't feel completely finished. I'll pick it back up for another part if you guys decide you want it! Thanks for the gold!
**Edit2:** I'll have a part two out later. :)
|
I felt it. Small, almost ethereal, but unmistakable.
*It was her.*
My drink fell to the floor. I clutched my hand, my ring. How... how could she be..?
*My keys.*
I need to get to her. To save her.
Like I never could before.
Speeding through the darkness. That faint pulse. Every beat giving me renewed hope, making me drive faster and faster. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I know she's there.
I can feel my heartbeat quicken, as hers seems to grow fainter and fainter. I must get to her, get her out of that damned prison.
*I'll dig her out with my bare hands.*
Please God, just let me get to her.
I turn, drifting around the corner. I'm losing control.
But I'm so close. I can almost feel her.
Bright lights flash. I swerve. I feel weightless, as if I'm floating through the air.
Like I'm flying towards her.
****
*And the ring's heartbeat grew ever faint, then beat no more.*
|
Inspiration came from this article:
http://www.higherperspectives.com/heartbeat-ring-1969018894.html?c=back2
|
[WP][TT] You and your fiancé wore rings that you let you feel each other's heartbeat in real time. After his/her passing, you decide to keep wearing the ring as a tribute. Several years later, you suddenly feel the ring start beating.
|
I had really screwed up this time.
God knows why I kept that ring; I had plenty of other reminders of what I had lost and what had been taken from me. But some part of me, some stupid, masochistic part of me, wanted to cling to it as a reminder of what could've been. Of what had almost been. I wish I hadn't. I wish I had gotten rid of the ring back when I first found out the truth.
This morning I had been running more than a little late to a very big meeting with a new client. I had barely enough time to run through my morning cleansing program before Martha let me know I had five minutes. I had been about to run out the door, trusting my ironically named home AI to close and lock it behind me, when I realized I had forgotten my ID ring. The one that allowed me access into my own office.
It had a simple design, unlike my other bejeweled accessories, with nothing but an engraving of my employee number to decorate its smooth, sleek surface. My fingers would easily be able to tell it apart from my other rings.
I backtracked to my bedroom, rifling through my old fashioned jewelry box in the dark, as Martha had already powered the lights down for the work day. I had programmed her to do so to save out on the exorbitant electricity bills that usually KO-ed me at the end of every month.
Blood pumping and adrenaline pushing me to get my arse out of my flat, I shoved the engraved ring I found onto the middle finger on my right hand, as always. Letting my sensors check to make sure the premises was clear, I hobbled out to the garage, ring secure on my finger and heels half-way on my feet. It wasn't until I successfully hopped into my transport pod and my heart rate began to slow that I realized the racing beats I felt weren't my own.
My heart began to palpitate furiously once again as horror flooded my veins. I squeezed my eyes shut in denial as my other fingers slowly ran over what I had rashly shoved onto my finger. Even though I already knew what I was going to find, I let my traitorous hands confirm their mistake.
They felt eight different numbers carved into the ring's surface. 02142024. The numbers engraved onto the ring were 02142024. My employee number was sixteen digits. Further, I knew those eight digits. I knew this racing, excited heartbeat that wasn't my own. I knew that if I could feel him, he could feel me. I knew he was still wearing my ring instead of putting it away with the others because I had been the one that got away. I knew he was going to find me and finish what he had started. I knew that unless I did something to stop it, he was going to make sure my heart stopped beating, and my heart ring joined that collection of his. I knew my fiancé knew I had never died.
|
I knew after Edgar there wouldn't be another man. We were true soul mates, shared our college days together, survived a war, and saw our beautiful daughter grow up.
I wear the ring as a reminder of his legacy. We could always feel each other's heartbeats.
Today I felt his heart beat, the pulse made me smile.
Edgar stood where he always stood when he was about to head out the door.
"It is time to go Constance."
|
[WP] You are a bounty hunter who collects overdue book fees for your library.
|
*I had two ideas I liked so I wrote two. Sue me ;p*
A cold chill runs down my spine as I dismount my horse. I glance around the woods, something was not right. Trees were dead, the birds were silent, nary a squirrel scurried though the branches. I cautiously move through the forest, careful to make not a sound. Looking down I notice a patch of earth scorched in an unnatural way. I pick up some ash, feeling the texture with my fingers and give it a sniff.
"Brimstone." I mutter to myself. "At least I know I'm on the right path." I turn to my trusty horse, fur black as night save for a brilliant blue blaze upon her face. "You're going to have to stay here girl, I'll be back in a moment". With a pat I leave her and move silently into the forest.
My progress slows as the trees get progressively denser, closing in on me from all sides. Just before the foliage swallows me completely the trees suddenly break into an unnatural clearing. It appears to be a perfect circle, the dead grass ringed by dead trees, and a silent pond in the center of it all. Sitting at the edge of the still water, a man sits. In his lap a massive tome is open, several more rest by his side. I silently unsheathe my blade and slip into the clearing.
Halfway through the clearing the man speaks, his voice strong and commanding despite his decrepit appearance. "Those small minded fools should have sent more men." He calmly closes the book and turns to face me.
"Surrender now, return the books, and pay your fine!" I shout to him, my words echoing off the trees. "Or I'll take them from your corpse" I menace the small man.
"But I'm not done with them yet!" he shouts, as he raises his hands. One of the books bursts open and its pages flutter like a hummingbird. Purple energy flows from it and encircles the man. Hands, burst from the ground as a myriad of zombies and skeletons crawl from their graves. The man giggles incoherently from behind the new wall of corpses.
My blade gleams in the fading light as I cut my way through the monsters. "Why do you people always have to do things the hard way?" I shout as I whirl my way through the shambling mob. My sword moves with blinding speed, my strikes far too fast for these creatures to stop or avoid.
"You fools know nothing!" The man shouts, scrambling back as I carve my way to him. "You all have access to so much power but your fragile sensibilities won't let you see it!" He cracks open another tome, this one seemingly unwilling to open. Red light seeps out of the book and the man grabs a handful. He hoists it, as if it weighed a ton, and hurls it in my direction.
I grab the nearest zombie and use it as a shield as the mote of light erupts into a massive, fiery blast, consuming the majority of my foes. I throw my desiccated, ashen shield to the ground and dash towards my quarry. He dives back, opening yet another massive book..
"I could teach you, you know. I could share with you this power, make you great." fear works its way into his voice as he goes to open the book.
I plant my boot atop the book, catching his hand between the pages. "I don't need you to teach me, because unlike you" I point my blade at his throat "I pay my late fees"
|
They say being a lady librarian is a boring job. Nothing to do all day but sit behind a counter, suffer the presence of people, go on Facebook or 9gag, maybe read a book or ten. Oh, and do the stuff librarians do, I guess. And they’re right. It is boring. So boring that I’d rather watch a live filming of a David Attenborough documentary. It’s that boring. I even look the part, with coffee brown eyes behind half-moon glasses, ebony hair tied up in a bun, face void of all expression but utter boredom.
But alter egos need to *be* boring. Makes it easier for people to look the other way. Look at Superman, posing as a newsboy. Or Spiderman, acting like a nerd in high school. Even Batman needs to be a boring old millionaire every now and then. So here I am, a boring librarian by day, and *something else* at night. And no, this is not me rationalizing my dead-end day job. So shut up.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a superhero. I never pretended to be, nor I ever wanted to be. There’s a reason why a librarian like me wound up vaulting over rooftops, blasting through steel doors, and hanging upside down from warehouse ceilings like a ninja after the library closes its doors for the day; the place I work at is less a library and more an archive of important tomes and scripture that have been locked away for the good of the entire world. Books like the *Necronomicon*, the *Book of Thoth*, and the Lovecraftian Novels. Very good stuff. Also highly dangerous.
The Archive allows key individuals to borrow from our stock every now and then for a hefty price. Usually the reasons are benign, even altruistic; someone needed to cure a death curse, a leyline had to be stabilized to stop a cataclysmic event, or a girl wanted an actual fairy princess to sing on her birthday. But every now and then, people forget to return books on their due date (like most college majors do). Worse still, some tardy bastard gets this crazy idea of using the overdue books to take over the world or some other uninspired yet complicated evil plot.
That’s where I come in. By morning, I am the Archive’s head librarian. At night, I am the *Ars Arcanum*, the Collector. And I am *awesome* at this job. Why, just the other night I stopped the Russian Mafia from using the *Lemegeton* to summon some otherworldly enforcers to do their dirty work. Ended up getting dirty myself, but that’s what happens when your own *djinn* splatters the walls red in glee. It’s all part of the job.
Tonight, I’m hidden behind some bushes on a cliff overlooking the manor of Lord William Crowley, distant descendant of Aleister Crowley himself. Under a pseudonym, he borrowed the *Book of the Dead* from the Archive. A week later, we expected the book back on our shelves. All we got was a badly-written note about using the book to revive his dead ancestor, and a dead, naked female body with threatening messages written all over it in blood.
So here I am, suited up in skin tight black suit with a tattered cloak for dramatic effect. The head honcho said that My weapons of choice are twin custom Ruger 9mm pistols (nicknamed Pain & Panic), three holy hand grenades, a silver crucifix with a pointed end, and the *Galdrabok* itself. See, one of the perks of the job was that I can use the books as I see fit, so long as it returns to the Archive in the same state when I took it. The *Galdrabok* gives me access to some very useful spells that make it easier for me to do my job. I mean, one threat of the Farting Curse is all it takes and they all come grovelling. The other stuff are simply insurance.
Basically I’m a librarian by day, and magical bounty hunter at night. Sounds silly, I know. Laugh all you want now, but one day you’ll find yourself here in the Archive, burdened by some great need. And if you ever forget to return the book you borrowed on its due date, or if you decide to be some wannabe evil sorcerer, I will find you. And I will ki-- collect your books and overdue fees.
|
|
[WP] You are a bounty hunter who collects overdue book fees for your library.
|
*I had two ideas I liked so I wrote two. Sue me ;p*
A cold chill runs down my spine as I dismount my horse. I glance around the woods, something was not right. Trees were dead, the birds were silent, nary a squirrel scurried though the branches. I cautiously move through the forest, careful to make not a sound. Looking down I notice a patch of earth scorched in an unnatural way. I pick up some ash, feeling the texture with my fingers and give it a sniff.
"Brimstone." I mutter to myself. "At least I know I'm on the right path." I turn to my trusty horse, fur black as night save for a brilliant blue blaze upon her face. "You're going to have to stay here girl, I'll be back in a moment". With a pat I leave her and move silently into the forest.
My progress slows as the trees get progressively denser, closing in on me from all sides. Just before the foliage swallows me completely the trees suddenly break into an unnatural clearing. It appears to be a perfect circle, the dead grass ringed by dead trees, and a silent pond in the center of it all. Sitting at the edge of the still water, a man sits. In his lap a massive tome is open, several more rest by his side. I silently unsheathe my blade and slip into the clearing.
Halfway through the clearing the man speaks, his voice strong and commanding despite his decrepit appearance. "Those small minded fools should have sent more men." He calmly closes the book and turns to face me.
"Surrender now, return the books, and pay your fine!" I shout to him, my words echoing off the trees. "Or I'll take them from your corpse" I menace the small man.
"But I'm not done with them yet!" he shouts, as he raises his hands. One of the books bursts open and its pages flutter like a hummingbird. Purple energy flows from it and encircles the man. Hands, burst from the ground as a myriad of zombies and skeletons crawl from their graves. The man giggles incoherently from behind the new wall of corpses.
My blade gleams in the fading light as I cut my way through the monsters. "Why do you people always have to do things the hard way?" I shout as I whirl my way through the shambling mob. My sword moves with blinding speed, my strikes far too fast for these creatures to stop or avoid.
"You fools know nothing!" The man shouts, scrambling back as I carve my way to him. "You all have access to so much power but your fragile sensibilities won't let you see it!" He cracks open another tome, this one seemingly unwilling to open. Red light seeps out of the book and the man grabs a handful. He hoists it, as if it weighed a ton, and hurls it in my direction.
I grab the nearest zombie and use it as a shield as the mote of light erupts into a massive, fiery blast, consuming the majority of my foes. I throw my desiccated, ashen shield to the ground and dash towards my quarry. He dives back, opening yet another massive book..
"I could teach you, you know. I could share with you this power, make you great." fear works its way into his voice as he goes to open the book.
I plant my boot atop the book, catching his hand between the pages. "I don't need you to teach me, because unlike you" I point my blade at his throat "I pay my late fees"
|
*SNICK*
Dammit; that was close. The lack of a rifle report meant the punk was using a silencer. Probably an adapted oil filter screwed onto the end of a .22LR bolt-action, just like the directions in the book. It's not much of a challenge to get one of those rifles, especially if you're young. It's small and looks harmless - when compared to a tricked-out AR - but just as deadly within a hundred yards.
"What do you see, Jeffers?", I whispered into my headset. Jeffers was 3 houses over, using a thermal imager. "Just a few hotspots, boss. Looks like a couple of cats and our boy. Nothing else showing."
I'd made the crawl from the end of the kid's street, using the gutter as a shield, my drag-bag with my rifle in it trailing behind me. This was a tough way to make an approach, as any bit of your body that appears above the gutter can get shot off. Also, the gutters tend to be pretty nasty at times. Still, it's a proven method. It takes time, but your target either can't watch the entire time or doesn't believe such an approach is possible. Either way, the odds are in your favor.
"Watkins", I whispered. "Start your approach now." Watkins, driving the fake UPS van, came up the street slowly, then stopped across from our target's house. Watkins got out, package in arm, and went up to the house. It was a dangerous part of the track, as our boy could have easily shot him; the UPS uniform didn't allow for any hard body armor, and nothing would stop a shot to the head. Still, Watkins didn't seem to mind; he was the daredevil in our group. Nothing seemed to scare him during a take-down.
I used the distraction to crawl from the gutter to the cover of the steps leading to the house. I thought I had gotten through cleanly, but another *SNICK* let me know our boy was onto us. Watkins took cover behind the truck, which was armored. He retrieved a sniper rifle from under the chassis and took an overwatch position on the house. "You good, chief? If ya want me to, I can pop him from here. He's not as clever as he thinks."
"No, Watkins, that's oka- *BLAM*
It took me a few moments for my hearing to clear, then I heard Jeffers in my headset: "That was real cold on my thermal scope, boss. My guess is he chucked a dry-ice bomb at ya from that second-floor window."
Makes sense. Easy to get dry ice and a few empty 2-liter bottles. Shit, I'd set off a few of my own in my younger days. "Let's hope he didn't get much further into the book", I said, as I shifted my weight on the steps.
*WHOOOOMP*
That shook everyone, me most of all. Dirt and chunks of grass came falling out of the air around me, and there was a whiff of ammonia in the air. "Welp," I said. "Looks like he's gotten past Chapter 13, 'Booby Traps and Firing Mechanisms'."
I felt like an idiot; I hadn't bothered to check for a pressure-plate on the steps. "From the smell," I whispered, "I suspect he used some ammonium nitrate fertilizer. Just followed the directions in the book." Damn good directions, too.
"Okay, guys, I done playing with this one. Watkins, get ready with your 40mm. Drop a flash-bang through the second-floor window. Jeffers, move up to the neighbor's house and send another flash-bang into the living room. Those should keep him down long enough for me to make entry."
"Roger that, boss", said Watkins. "Copy that", said Jeffers. I gave them a thirty-count, then gave a countdown: "Three, two, one, send it!"
foompBANG! foompBANG!
I was on my feet and charging the door before the second explosion, hitting the door frame with my shoulder and feeling it give way. The average homeowner had no idea how weak a wooden door frame really was.
I rolled into the foyer, tossing a stun grenade up the stairs and onto the 2nd-floor landing; another went sailing into the living room. If the kid's vision and hearing weren't gone from the flash-bangs, the second pair would put him down long enough for me to gain control.
And I was right; the kid was in the middle of the living room floor, barely moving. Guess he hadn't gotten to Chapter 20, 'Defending Against Military and Paramilitary Forces'. They wrote about improvised gas masks and hearing protection in that chapter, as well as improvised barricades from household furnishings.
I rolled up on the kid, my hand on his chest and my pistol coming up against his forehead. "What is with you kids and that book?", I asked him. I'd seen it when I was a kid, but it didn't seem to have the same fascination with young guys then as it did now.
"Someone checks it out, then they don't return it", I said. "They ignore notices, keeping it out for weeks or months, racking up a huge fine and forcing me and my team into action. Tell me, kid, was it worth all the effort?"
The kid coughed a bit, then said, "Well, I figured if I kept it long enough, someone would come after me. Then I could try out all the stuff that I learned from the book." "Well, kid, that's pretty stupid. Now, you'll have to pay my bounty fee, as well as the charge for the overdue book. And I'm sure your parents won't be happy about the broken window or the smashed door frame."
I holstered my pistol, grabbed the kid by his collar and dragged him to his bedroom. The book was on his desk, opened to Chapter 8, "Monitoring Enemy Activity". A police scanner that looked older than the kid sat next to it. "So", I said, "you heard us talking. Looks like I need to invest in some encrypted comms."
I grabbed the book, and glanced at the worn cover. "The Anarchist's Cookbook, 35th Anniversary Edition." This was the *fifth* time I'd had to track down this damn book.
"Next time, kid, just pay the fine. It ain't worth either of us getting killed."
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[WP] You are a bounty hunter who collects overdue book fees for your library.
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*I had two ideas I liked so I wrote two. Sue me ;p*
A cold chill runs down my spine as I dismount my horse. I glance around the woods, something was not right. Trees were dead, the birds were silent, nary a squirrel scurried though the branches. I cautiously move through the forest, careful to make not a sound. Looking down I notice a patch of earth scorched in an unnatural way. I pick up some ash, feeling the texture with my fingers and give it a sniff.
"Brimstone." I mutter to myself. "At least I know I'm on the right path." I turn to my trusty horse, fur black as night save for a brilliant blue blaze upon her face. "You're going to have to stay here girl, I'll be back in a moment". With a pat I leave her and move silently into the forest.
My progress slows as the trees get progressively denser, closing in on me from all sides. Just before the foliage swallows me completely the trees suddenly break into an unnatural clearing. It appears to be a perfect circle, the dead grass ringed by dead trees, and a silent pond in the center of it all. Sitting at the edge of the still water, a man sits. In his lap a massive tome is open, several more rest by his side. I silently unsheathe my blade and slip into the clearing.
Halfway through the clearing the man speaks, his voice strong and commanding despite his decrepit appearance. "Those small minded fools should have sent more men." He calmly closes the book and turns to face me.
"Surrender now, return the books, and pay your fine!" I shout to him, my words echoing off the trees. "Or I'll take them from your corpse" I menace the small man.
"But I'm not done with them yet!" he shouts, as he raises his hands. One of the books bursts open and its pages flutter like a hummingbird. Purple energy flows from it and encircles the man. Hands, burst from the ground as a myriad of zombies and skeletons crawl from their graves. The man giggles incoherently from behind the new wall of corpses.
My blade gleams in the fading light as I cut my way through the monsters. "Why do you people always have to do things the hard way?" I shout as I whirl my way through the shambling mob. My sword moves with blinding speed, my strikes far too fast for these creatures to stop or avoid.
"You fools know nothing!" The man shouts, scrambling back as I carve my way to him. "You all have access to so much power but your fragile sensibilities won't let you see it!" He cracks open another tome, this one seemingly unwilling to open. Red light seeps out of the book and the man grabs a handful. He hoists it, as if it weighed a ton, and hurls it in my direction.
I grab the nearest zombie and use it as a shield as the mote of light erupts into a massive, fiery blast, consuming the majority of my foes. I throw my desiccated, ashen shield to the ground and dash towards my quarry. He dives back, opening yet another massive book..
"I could teach you, you know. I could share with you this power, make you great." fear works its way into his voice as he goes to open the book.
I plant my boot atop the book, catching his hand between the pages. "I don't need you to teach me, because unlike you" I point my blade at his throat "I pay my late fees"
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I didn't start out with this. Wanted to be a cop, like my dad. Times were too tough though. After the global collapse in 2345, the military took over and you had to pay to get in. Most public services were privatized, the government had given up on trying to keep up appearances. Roads were only built for the wealthy and "peace walls" erected around the smoked out remains of neighborhoods that had descended into chaos. They called these places Freedom States.
No one knows when the higher-ups decided handing over the libraries to the corporations was a good idea, but I know it happened on a Monday. That afternoon, folks from the States lined up for blocks to return the books they'd checked out before the law passed. The libraries hired security guards to ensure nothing left that wasn't checked out. Not that it mattered, every book had a rental cost and most of those folks couldn't afford it.
Heaven help them if they could though. The corps started hiring people to track down whoever didn't bring books back on time. The pay to do it was good; better than cleaning windows and a hell of a lot cheaper than joining the military. Folks started calling us Collectors. We'd ride into the Freedom States and heckle citizens for the late fees they'd racked up. Didn't matter if they couldn't get past check points or the corps had implemented a payment strike for them trying to organize, you paid the corps.
I received a tip off on a job early this morning. They said it was supposed to be quick. In and out. Supposedly it was just a mother and two children living in the slums and women are always easy to shake down especially if you roughed up the kids a little. I stopped for a cup of coffee, phoned in to accept the assignment and headed toward the Freedom State west of town. Showed my badge at the checkpoint and passed through. Got to their house pretty quick. Most people there don't have cars, can't afford 'em, so the roads are normally empty.
The place looks like a dump; garbage in front of the building and the sidewalk smells like piss and vomit. A dinged up metal door barely has hinges and the building's grey with most of the windows covered in plywood.
Oh well, might as well get this over with.
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[WP] You are a bounty hunter who collects overdue book fees for your library.
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*I had two ideas I liked so I wrote two. Sue me ;p*
A cold chill runs down my spine as I dismount my horse. I glance around the woods, something was not right. Trees were dead, the birds were silent, nary a squirrel scurried though the branches. I cautiously move through the forest, careful to make not a sound. Looking down I notice a patch of earth scorched in an unnatural way. I pick up some ash, feeling the texture with my fingers and give it a sniff.
"Brimstone." I mutter to myself. "At least I know I'm on the right path." I turn to my trusty horse, fur black as night save for a brilliant blue blaze upon her face. "You're going to have to stay here girl, I'll be back in a moment". With a pat I leave her and move silently into the forest.
My progress slows as the trees get progressively denser, closing in on me from all sides. Just before the foliage swallows me completely the trees suddenly break into an unnatural clearing. It appears to be a perfect circle, the dead grass ringed by dead trees, and a silent pond in the center of it all. Sitting at the edge of the still water, a man sits. In his lap a massive tome is open, several more rest by his side. I silently unsheathe my blade and slip into the clearing.
Halfway through the clearing the man speaks, his voice strong and commanding despite his decrepit appearance. "Those small minded fools should have sent more men." He calmly closes the book and turns to face me.
"Surrender now, return the books, and pay your fine!" I shout to him, my words echoing off the trees. "Or I'll take them from your corpse" I menace the small man.
"But I'm not done with them yet!" he shouts, as he raises his hands. One of the books bursts open and its pages flutter like a hummingbird. Purple energy flows from it and encircles the man. Hands, burst from the ground as a myriad of zombies and skeletons crawl from their graves. The man giggles incoherently from behind the new wall of corpses.
My blade gleams in the fading light as I cut my way through the monsters. "Why do you people always have to do things the hard way?" I shout as I whirl my way through the shambling mob. My sword moves with blinding speed, my strikes far too fast for these creatures to stop or avoid.
"You fools know nothing!" The man shouts, scrambling back as I carve my way to him. "You all have access to so much power but your fragile sensibilities won't let you see it!" He cracks open another tome, this one seemingly unwilling to open. Red light seeps out of the book and the man grabs a handful. He hoists it, as if it weighed a ton, and hurls it in my direction.
I grab the nearest zombie and use it as a shield as the mote of light erupts into a massive, fiery blast, consuming the majority of my foes. I throw my desiccated, ashen shield to the ground and dash towards my quarry. He dives back, opening yet another massive book..
"I could teach you, you know. I could share with you this power, make you great." fear works its way into his voice as he goes to open the book.
I plant my boot atop the book, catching his hand between the pages. "I don't need you to teach me, because unlike you" I point my blade at his throat "I pay my late fees"
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The horrific screech of my phone wakes me, it's incessant beeping reminding me of my choices in life. I grumble as I roll out of my comfortable bed, a woman who's name I don't know slowly waking as well. I place the phone to my ear.
"Mr. Vanderpunch, we've got a runner, a one Aaron Cross. He was last seen boarding a plane heading for Detroit. If you leave now you should be able to head him off. The institution is willing to pay your travelling fee."
"I'm on it" I grunt like an annoyed lion and hang up. "Sorry doll, duty calls. I'll make you an omelet some other time."
"Call me!" She shouts desperately as I rush out the door.
The cool night air washes over me as I walk to my classic mustang parked on the curb. I strap my trusty revolver to my side and slide into the leather seat. I place my hand on the steering wheel and the engine roars to life like the rearing horse of old. I speed down the highway towards the rising sun. Justice doesn't wait till dawn.
Two hours later I arrive in Detroit, once the motor city, now a faded jewel. I speed to the airport and toss my keys to the valet. "I'm not paying for it" I mutter to myself with a grin. Rushing through the still silent halls I make my way to the terminal, flashing security my badge. Airports were always so tranquil in the wee hours of the morning, the massive rooms leaving only you and your thoughts. The plane was disembarking as I reached the cavernous terminal. I watched the people as they leave, runners were always easy to spot, they had the unmistakable scared look of a rabbit out in the open. Sure enough, he pokes his head out, nervously looking around for a wolf.
I hold up my hastily scrawled sign with his name. Aaron's timid eyes eventually finds it. For a moment he's confused, stunned, until he sees me grinning like the wolf I am. He bolts, sprinting down the hall, tail between his legs. I whip out my Smith & Weston, the polished metal gleaming in the florescent light, and fire a single shot. The other passengers scream at the sound and the man falls, clutching his ankle.
I take my time walking over to him before placing a boot upon his back. "You should have just paid the fee, would have saved yourself a lot of trouble." I gloat, standing over him. "Now you've got to pay for my bullet too" I bend over and pull a few books out of his backpack. "All this for Twilight. I would have pegged you for a Tom Clancy fan." I put the books under my arm and begin walking away from the man as security and paramedics run to his side. I pause from a moment and turn to the crowd gathered. "And let this be a lesson to all of you. Don't FUCK with the public library."
(I have two ideas for this, I've got a second story on the way)
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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Oh little Jimmy was nestled all snug in his bed,
while visions of sugar-plums danced in his-WHAP!
Jimmy sat bolt upright in his bed instinctively bringing his hands to the burning sensation on his cheek. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of his room. He looked to the side of his bed and saw a tall bearded man in a red coat carrying a bottle and looking very dazed and out of it.
"S-Santa?"
"Ho-ho *burp* ho ya little shit, there's more wh-where that came from," said Santa slapping the boy a second time.
Stunned, Jimmy said, "Santa! What are you doing?! I thought you were supposed to be nice and jolly!"
"Jolly? You want me to be f-fucking jolly? D-do you even know how many g-god DAMN lawsuits I have on my hands from all those toy companies with all their fuckin' patent claims? Not to mention having to keep an eye oon sh-shitty kids like you all the time."
"Moooooooooooom!!!!"
"Oh r-right, NOW you cry to your mom. Only when you need help don't ya."
Jimmy's mom came running down the hall and entered the room. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Mom help! Santa's trying to beat me!"
"Ahh fuck you Jimmy," Santa said pointing his bottle of eggnog at Jimmy causing him to stumble and fall ass flat on the ground.
"Santa why are you doing this?" asked Jimmy's mom.
"W-why? Why am I doing THIS?" Santa started laughing letting out a chorus of Ho Ho Ho's in between his burping. "Cause your son... is the most entitled, ungrateful little shit I've ever had the disPLEASURE of keeping an eye on."
"I am not!"
"YOU ARE SO JIMMY! Do you have any idea how much work your mother goes through, j-just to keep you happy?"
Jimmy looked desperately at his mom. She stared back at him and said nothing.
"Your birthday last month. Y-your *burp* mother she worked overtime for a month a god damn MONTH just so she could buy you your stupid fucking iPhone you love so much." Santa took a second, wondering if he was about to puke or not. After a moment he burped and continued. "Do you even remember what you said when she gave it to you?" He stared intently at Jimmy.
Jimmy said nothing for a second before meekly saying, "N-no..."
His mom chimed in quietly saying, "He said... this isn't the latest generation."
Santa gestured towards her. "You see that J-jimmy! All that work and effort your mother puts in to keep you happy and you never, *burp* you NEVER APPRECIATE IT... you... you never appreciate it" Santa began a whimper that transitioned into a full out cry. He laid sitting on the floor repeating to himself, "they never appreciate it damn it, they never appreciate any of it!"
Just then a group of elves came in the room. "Santa what's taking you so long?" When the elves saw the sorry scene in front of them the head elf said, "Jesus Christ," and looked desperately at the other elves in the group.
They approached Santa and one said, "Hey pal, you're a little drunk buddy and we're gonna get you out of here. Come on now."
Six elves gathered around Santa and helped him to his feet. They carried him out of the room as he repeatedly whimpered "they never appreciate it."
"Sorry you had to see that," said the last elf as he shut the door behind him.
Jimmy was a lot more appreciative after that.
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Cole was a juvenile delinquent with the rap sheet of an adult. He bullied other children, got into fights, and vandalized public property. The remorse never settled in, not even after he was caught; it had to be beaten into him. As Santa swung his sack, he imagined Cole's petulant face crumpling under the impact, blood and snot spraying everywhere.
The window shattered, and a shadow shifted in the bedroom. Santa vaulted the windowsill with practiced agility and leapt onto the bed. Cole's expression couldn't update quickly enough; he was still trapped in dreariness as Santa wrapped his hands around his throat.
"Santa, what..." Cole's voice rattled, his eyes popping, as he struggled to displace Santa's chokehold. Santa backhanded him twice in succession, once for each cheek, eliciting a pair of satisfying cracks and a delicious cry of pain.
"This is your reward, kid. This is all for your misdeeds." Santa laugh was genuine and full of mirth, not his typical ho-ho-ho act. Cole writhed underneath Santa, upsetting the sheets but gaining no purchase. He was helpless, a bully turned on his back, and oh, how ticklish that was. Santa lurched forward and planted his gut across his face. If only the kids could see the state of their bully now. He imagined their faces, the derisive laughs and the vengeful sneers. The image was disconcerting, though, and for a moment, he wanted to punch them out, too.
Footsteps pattered down the hallway, accompanied by cries of concern. Santa shifted backwards and struck him in the face, and his head would've been sent spinning if Santa hadn't been securing his neck. Cole closed his eyes, a bruise forming around his left one. His hands fell limply at his sides. He'd admitted defeat. The game was over. Santa felt incomplete, though; his business wasn't yet over. He slammed Cole's head against the headboard with a resounding crack. Nothing. Still nothing.
A shadow blotted out the light emanating from beneath the door. Santa took one last look at Cole, the bloody mess. He had no history; in this moment, he was nothing more than a kid on his bed in the middle of the night. Then the bedroom door flew open, and Santa was gone in a swirl of blankets. He heard the screams as he embarked on his sleigh and took off into the night.
Next stop was Harry, a perpetual shoplifter, and he was going to get it. Yes, this time, he would learn his lesson; Santa would make sure of it.
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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He stumbled out of the broken front door. The bottle landed in the freshly fallen snow as he wiped his bloody knuckles on his dirty red coat. He coughed heartily and lit a cigarette before staring up at the moon, basking in his own adrenaline and bloodlust. He retrieved the bottle, taking a swig as he heaved himself back onto his well worn sleigh seat.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Santa?"
Santa looked at the small elf next to him with fire in his eyes.
"You shut your fucking mouth, or you'll be next. I don't pay you for your opinions."
The elf looked away meekly, as Santa pulled a crumpled list from his chest coat pocket.
"Timmy, Timmy, timmy..." he mumbled as he perused the red-inked names, crossing it out once he found it.
"Who's next?" He said, not even bothering to look at the Elf.
"Um, let's see... well, the next closest naughty kid is Jane, 316 N. Harrington Road. It's about 0.6 miles north north east from here. Santa. Santa? Santa?!?"
The elf jostled the drunken sleeping giant by his fluffy white lapel.
"Mmmm, what?"
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" He roared, veins bulging on his forehead, "I'm always listening."
Santa stared straight ahead, dead eyed and lost in thought.
"Jane. Janeeeee. Yes. Uppity little cunt. Told her father she didn't love him because he couldn't afford a pony. Like she has any understanding of the care and upkeep costs that go into owning a pony. Hah! I'll give her a pony alright..."
He smiled through gritted teeth as he rubbed his stonelike hands together maniacally.
"But Santa, she's only 7, she didn't know! I'm sure she didn't mean it."
The elf crashed to the floor as a thunderous blow cracked against the right side of his jaw.
"ONLY SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TOO!" he bellowed. The trembling elf gathered himself and resumed his spot atop the driving perch. A light turned on in Timmys kitchen, and a robe-laden man stepped through the door, rubbing his eyes the pale moonlight.
"Who's out there? Did you break my door??"
Santa and the elf looked at each other in astonishment, they hadn't been seen by a mortal in millennia.
"Um, uh, no! We heard the commotion and came out to check, we are... repair men!"
"Repair men? What time is it?" The man looked at his watch.
"It's 3 in the morning! Is that a sleigh?? Stay where you are, I'm calling the cops! Honey, get down here, and bring my gun!" The man ran back into the house.
"Hm, that's not good, we should go. Ready the steeds!"
The elf grabbed the reigns and cracked his whip across the backs of the reindeer.
"We ride! It's time for Jane to get her pony" Santa said, throwing his head back as he chuckled to the moon. And with that, they rode off into the crisp December darkness.
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Cole was a juvenile delinquent with the rap sheet of an adult. He bullied other children, got into fights, and vandalized public property. The remorse never settled in, not even after he was caught; it had to be beaten into him. As Santa swung his sack, he imagined Cole's petulant face crumpling under the impact, blood and snot spraying everywhere.
The window shattered, and a shadow shifted in the bedroom. Santa vaulted the windowsill with practiced agility and leapt onto the bed. Cole's expression couldn't update quickly enough; he was still trapped in dreariness as Santa wrapped his hands around his throat.
"Santa, what..." Cole's voice rattled, his eyes popping, as he struggled to displace Santa's chokehold. Santa backhanded him twice in succession, once for each cheek, eliciting a pair of satisfying cracks and a delicious cry of pain.
"This is your reward, kid. This is all for your misdeeds." Santa laugh was genuine and full of mirth, not his typical ho-ho-ho act. Cole writhed underneath Santa, upsetting the sheets but gaining no purchase. He was helpless, a bully turned on his back, and oh, how ticklish that was. Santa lurched forward and planted his gut across his face. If only the kids could see the state of their bully now. He imagined their faces, the derisive laughs and the vengeful sneers. The image was disconcerting, though, and for a moment, he wanted to punch them out, too.
Footsteps pattered down the hallway, accompanied by cries of concern. Santa shifted backwards and struck him in the face, and his head would've been sent spinning if Santa hadn't been securing his neck. Cole closed his eyes, a bruise forming around his left one. His hands fell limply at his sides. He'd admitted defeat. The game was over. Santa felt incomplete, though; his business wasn't yet over. He slammed Cole's head against the headboard with a resounding crack. Nothing. Still nothing.
A shadow blotted out the light emanating from beneath the door. Santa took one last look at Cole, the bloody mess. He had no history; in this moment, he was nothing more than a kid on his bed in the middle of the night. Then the bedroom door flew open, and Santa was gone in a swirl of blankets. He heard the screams as he embarked on his sleigh and took off into the night.
Next stop was Harry, a perpetual shoplifter, and he was going to get it. Yes, this time, he would learn his lesson; Santa would make sure of it.
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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It was a tepid summer night. Little Johnny Becker was loosely under his sheets, enjoying the fresh, night air as cricket chirps melted into the hum of the box fan in his window.
Little Johnny could not conceive of a more perfect night to cap off a more perfect day: pestering his mother into buying $200.00 in console games, a new cat, and skipping dinner altogether because it, “tasted like shit,” which was only met with warnings and empty threats, per usual.
Little Johnny slept like a king, unaware that a creature was stirring, *much* bigger than a mouse.
*Crash!*
A familiar body flew threw Johnny's door, shattering it as Ed lay on the floor.
Johnny jerked and jostled. Light from the hallway now intruded into Johnny's kingdom. He saw his step-father moaning on the floor.
“What the fuck, Ed? Drunker than usual? Mom's going to kill you when she gets back from karaoke and sees you smashed another door,” complained Johnny of the disturbance.
Footsteps, heavy with purpose made their way to the doorway. A round shadow slowly eclipsed the light over Ed lying on the floor.
“Little Johnny Becker…” a deep, burly voice spilled into his room, cascading it with the stench of eggnog and brandy.
He recognized the outline. He couldn't be sure. He flicked on his ‘reading’ lamp.
“Santa!” Exclaimed Johnny. “You beat up my step dad! You really are the best! I must've been extra good this year to get my present in July!”
The steps thundered. Santa drew nearer to little Johnny's bed.
*Whap!*
Open hand smack across Johnny's jaw. Johnny was seeing Christmas stars. This was followed by a good old fashioned toss across the room into Johnny's plasma TV.
Johnny lay on the floor a frightened wreck of a spoiled, little shit.
“What did I do to deserve this??” cried Johnny.
Santa slowly approached before shoving a note in Johnny's face. Johnny recognized this letter, his Christmas list.
“Have you any idea how much you requested?” Santa questioned. The note still in Johnny's face.
“I… I don't know. I just wrote things down. I mean you're magical and all…”
“72 trillion!” Santa erupted. “Have you any idea what kind of strain that puts on me!?”
“No…”
Santa stood up and began reciting Johnny's list, “Two air force ones, reanimate Babe Ruth, torture your pediatrician, end the Federal Reserve, a magic carpet, ridable dinosaurs, murder your baseball coach, a pet Xenomorph with non-acidic blood…” Santa took a deep breath and a pull of whiskey from his flask to recompose himself. He crumpled the list and dropped it on the floor. “All you little shits do is want, want, want, even the ‘good’ ones. It's enough to drive a man to drink.” He took another pull from the flask. “They don't even sell eggnog around here right now...”
Ed had regained consciousness long ago, but he didn't want to interfere with Johnny's beating. “Wouldn't a simple lump of coal done the job? Did you really have to show up in the middle of the night and beat my ass?” questioned Ed.
“You're the one raising this little shit, and I'm through with coal. Everyone's all about ‘green energy’ these days. I can't afford coal. But beatings…” He took another pull from his flask. “Beatings come free of charge.”
Santa began to work his way down the hallway. Ed and Johnny began to relax, knowing the danger was receding.
“Oh yeah,” Santa added, halting his progress, “Gina does ‘karaoke’ at Racers on Fifth Street, right? You better believe that bitch is on my 'naughty' list.”
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Cole was a juvenile delinquent with the rap sheet of an adult. He bullied other children, got into fights, and vandalized public property. The remorse never settled in, not even after he was caught; it had to be beaten into him. As Santa swung his sack, he imagined Cole's petulant face crumpling under the impact, blood and snot spraying everywhere.
The window shattered, and a shadow shifted in the bedroom. Santa vaulted the windowsill with practiced agility and leapt onto the bed. Cole's expression couldn't update quickly enough; he was still trapped in dreariness as Santa wrapped his hands around his throat.
"Santa, what..." Cole's voice rattled, his eyes popping, as he struggled to displace Santa's chokehold. Santa backhanded him twice in succession, once for each cheek, eliciting a pair of satisfying cracks and a delicious cry of pain.
"This is your reward, kid. This is all for your misdeeds." Santa laugh was genuine and full of mirth, not his typical ho-ho-ho act. Cole writhed underneath Santa, upsetting the sheets but gaining no purchase. He was helpless, a bully turned on his back, and oh, how ticklish that was. Santa lurched forward and planted his gut across his face. If only the kids could see the state of their bully now. He imagined their faces, the derisive laughs and the vengeful sneers. The image was disconcerting, though, and for a moment, he wanted to punch them out, too.
Footsteps pattered down the hallway, accompanied by cries of concern. Santa shifted backwards and struck him in the face, and his head would've been sent spinning if Santa hadn't been securing his neck. Cole closed his eyes, a bruise forming around his left one. His hands fell limply at his sides. He'd admitted defeat. The game was over. Santa felt incomplete, though; his business wasn't yet over. He slammed Cole's head against the headboard with a resounding crack. Nothing. Still nothing.
A shadow blotted out the light emanating from beneath the door. Santa took one last look at Cole, the bloody mess. He had no history; in this moment, he was nothing more than a kid on his bed in the middle of the night. Then the bedroom door flew open, and Santa was gone in a swirl of blankets. He heard the screams as he embarked on his sleigh and took off into the night.
Next stop was Harry, a perpetual shoplifter, and he was going to get it. Yes, this time, he would learn his lesson; Santa would make sure of it.
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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He stumbled out of the broken front door. The bottle landed in the freshly fallen snow as he wiped his bloody knuckles on his dirty red coat. He coughed heartily and lit a cigarette before staring up at the moon, basking in his own adrenaline and bloodlust. He retrieved the bottle, taking a swig as he heaved himself back onto his well worn sleigh seat.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Santa?"
Santa looked at the small elf next to him with fire in his eyes.
"You shut your fucking mouth, or you'll be next. I don't pay you for your opinions."
The elf looked away meekly, as Santa pulled a crumpled list from his chest coat pocket.
"Timmy, Timmy, timmy..." he mumbled as he perused the red-inked names, crossing it out once he found it.
"Who's next?" He said, not even bothering to look at the Elf.
"Um, let's see... well, the next closest naughty kid is Jane, 316 N. Harrington Road. It's about 0.6 miles north north east from here. Santa. Santa? Santa?!?"
The elf jostled the drunken sleeping giant by his fluffy white lapel.
"Mmmm, what?"
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" He roared, veins bulging on his forehead, "I'm always listening."
Santa stared straight ahead, dead eyed and lost in thought.
"Jane. Janeeeee. Yes. Uppity little cunt. Told her father she didn't love him because he couldn't afford a pony. Like she has any understanding of the care and upkeep costs that go into owning a pony. Hah! I'll give her a pony alright..."
He smiled through gritted teeth as he rubbed his stonelike hands together maniacally.
"But Santa, she's only 7, she didn't know! I'm sure she didn't mean it."
The elf crashed to the floor as a thunderous blow cracked against the right side of his jaw.
"ONLY SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TOO!" he bellowed. The trembling elf gathered himself and resumed his spot atop the driving perch. A light turned on in Timmys kitchen, and a robe-laden man stepped through the door, rubbing his eyes the pale moonlight.
"Who's out there? Did you break my door??"
Santa and the elf looked at each other in astonishment, they hadn't been seen by a mortal in millennia.
"Um, uh, no! We heard the commotion and came out to check, we are... repair men!"
"Repair men? What time is it?" The man looked at his watch.
"It's 3 in the morning! Is that a sleigh?? Stay where you are, I'm calling the cops! Honey, get down here, and bring my gun!" The man ran back into the house.
"Hm, that's not good, we should go. Ready the steeds!"
The elf grabbed the reigns and cracked his whip across the backs of the reindeer.
"We ride! It's time for Jane to get her pony" Santa said, throwing his head back as he chuckled to the moon. And with that, they rode off into the crisp December darkness.
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Oh little Jimmy was nestled all snug in his bed,
while visions of sugar-plums danced in his-WHAP!
Jimmy sat bolt upright in his bed instinctively bringing his hands to the burning sensation on his cheek. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of his room. He looked to the side of his bed and saw a tall bearded man in a red coat carrying a bottle and looking very dazed and out of it.
"S-Santa?"
"Ho-ho *burp* ho ya little shit, there's more wh-where that came from," said Santa slapping the boy a second time.
Stunned, Jimmy said, "Santa! What are you doing?! I thought you were supposed to be nice and jolly!"
"Jolly? You want me to be f-fucking jolly? D-do you even know how many g-god DAMN lawsuits I have on my hands from all those toy companies with all their fuckin' patent claims? Not to mention having to keep an eye oon sh-shitty kids like you all the time."
"Moooooooooooom!!!!"
"Oh r-right, NOW you cry to your mom. Only when you need help don't ya."
Jimmy's mom came running down the hall and entered the room. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Mom help! Santa's trying to beat me!"
"Ahh fuck you Jimmy," Santa said pointing his bottle of eggnog at Jimmy causing him to stumble and fall ass flat on the ground.
"Santa why are you doing this?" asked Jimmy's mom.
"W-why? Why am I doing THIS?" Santa started laughing letting out a chorus of Ho Ho Ho's in between his burping. "Cause your son... is the most entitled, ungrateful little shit I've ever had the disPLEASURE of keeping an eye on."
"I am not!"
"YOU ARE SO JIMMY! Do you have any idea how much work your mother goes through, j-just to keep you happy?"
Jimmy looked desperately at his mom. She stared back at him and said nothing.
"Your birthday last month. Y-your *burp* mother she worked overtime for a month a god damn MONTH just so she could buy you your stupid fucking iPhone you love so much." Santa took a second, wondering if he was about to puke or not. After a moment he burped and continued. "Do you even remember what you said when she gave it to you?" He stared intently at Jimmy.
Jimmy said nothing for a second before meekly saying, "N-no..."
His mom chimed in quietly saying, "He said... this isn't the latest generation."
Santa gestured towards her. "You see that J-jimmy! All that work and effort your mother puts in to keep you happy and you never, *burp* you NEVER APPRECIATE IT... you... you never appreciate it" Santa began a whimper that transitioned into a full out cry. He laid sitting on the floor repeating to himself, "they never appreciate it damn it, they never appreciate any of it!"
Just then a group of elves came in the room. "Santa what's taking you so long?" When the elves saw the sorry scene in front of them the head elf said, "Jesus Christ," and looked desperately at the other elves in the group.
They approached Santa and one said, "Hey pal, you're a little drunk buddy and we're gonna get you out of here. Come on now."
Six elves gathered around Santa and helped him to his feet. They carried him out of the room as he repeatedly whimpered "they never appreciate it."
"Sorry you had to see that," said the last elf as he shut the door behind him.
Jimmy was a lot more appreciative after that.
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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It was a tepid summer night. Little Johnny Becker was loosely under his sheets, enjoying the fresh, night air as cricket chirps melted into the hum of the box fan in his window.
Little Johnny could not conceive of a more perfect night to cap off a more perfect day: pestering his mother into buying $200.00 in console games, a new cat, and skipping dinner altogether because it, “tasted like shit,” which was only met with warnings and empty threats, per usual.
Little Johnny slept like a king, unaware that a creature was stirring, *much* bigger than a mouse.
*Crash!*
A familiar body flew threw Johnny's door, shattering it as Ed lay on the floor.
Johnny jerked and jostled. Light from the hallway now intruded into Johnny's kingdom. He saw his step-father moaning on the floor.
“What the fuck, Ed? Drunker than usual? Mom's going to kill you when she gets back from karaoke and sees you smashed another door,” complained Johnny of the disturbance.
Footsteps, heavy with purpose made their way to the doorway. A round shadow slowly eclipsed the light over Ed lying on the floor.
“Little Johnny Becker…” a deep, burly voice spilled into his room, cascading it with the stench of eggnog and brandy.
He recognized the outline. He couldn't be sure. He flicked on his ‘reading’ lamp.
“Santa!” Exclaimed Johnny. “You beat up my step dad! You really are the best! I must've been extra good this year to get my present in July!”
The steps thundered. Santa drew nearer to little Johnny's bed.
*Whap!*
Open hand smack across Johnny's jaw. Johnny was seeing Christmas stars. This was followed by a good old fashioned toss across the room into Johnny's plasma TV.
Johnny lay on the floor a frightened wreck of a spoiled, little shit.
“What did I do to deserve this??” cried Johnny.
Santa slowly approached before shoving a note in Johnny's face. Johnny recognized this letter, his Christmas list.
“Have you any idea how much you requested?” Santa questioned. The note still in Johnny's face.
“I… I don't know. I just wrote things down. I mean you're magical and all…”
“72 trillion!” Santa erupted. “Have you any idea what kind of strain that puts on me!?”
“No…”
Santa stood up and began reciting Johnny's list, “Two air force ones, reanimate Babe Ruth, torture your pediatrician, end the Federal Reserve, a magic carpet, ridable dinosaurs, murder your baseball coach, a pet Xenomorph with non-acidic blood…” Santa took a deep breath and a pull of whiskey from his flask to recompose himself. He crumpled the list and dropped it on the floor. “All you little shits do is want, want, want, even the ‘good’ ones. It's enough to drive a man to drink.” He took another pull from the flask. “They don't even sell eggnog around here right now...”
Ed had regained consciousness long ago, but he didn't want to interfere with Johnny's beating. “Wouldn't a simple lump of coal done the job? Did you really have to show up in the middle of the night and beat my ass?” questioned Ed.
“You're the one raising this little shit, and I'm through with coal. Everyone's all about ‘green energy’ these days. I can't afford coal. But beatings…” He took another pull from his flask. “Beatings come free of charge.”
Santa began to work his way down the hallway. Ed and Johnny began to relax, knowing the danger was receding.
“Oh yeah,” Santa added, halting his progress, “Gina does ‘karaoke’ at Racers on Fifth Street, right? You better believe that bitch is on my 'naughty' list.”
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Oh little Jimmy was nestled all snug in his bed,
while visions of sugar-plums danced in his-WHAP!
Jimmy sat bolt upright in his bed instinctively bringing his hands to the burning sensation on his cheek. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of his room. He looked to the side of his bed and saw a tall bearded man in a red coat carrying a bottle and looking very dazed and out of it.
"S-Santa?"
"Ho-ho *burp* ho ya little shit, there's more wh-where that came from," said Santa slapping the boy a second time.
Stunned, Jimmy said, "Santa! What are you doing?! I thought you were supposed to be nice and jolly!"
"Jolly? You want me to be f-fucking jolly? D-do you even know how many g-god DAMN lawsuits I have on my hands from all those toy companies with all their fuckin' patent claims? Not to mention having to keep an eye oon sh-shitty kids like you all the time."
"Moooooooooooom!!!!"
"Oh r-right, NOW you cry to your mom. Only when you need help don't ya."
Jimmy's mom came running down the hall and entered the room. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Mom help! Santa's trying to beat me!"
"Ahh fuck you Jimmy," Santa said pointing his bottle of eggnog at Jimmy causing him to stumble and fall ass flat on the ground.
"Santa why are you doing this?" asked Jimmy's mom.
"W-why? Why am I doing THIS?" Santa started laughing letting out a chorus of Ho Ho Ho's in between his burping. "Cause your son... is the most entitled, ungrateful little shit I've ever had the disPLEASURE of keeping an eye on."
"I am not!"
"YOU ARE SO JIMMY! Do you have any idea how much work your mother goes through, j-just to keep you happy?"
Jimmy looked desperately at his mom. She stared back at him and said nothing.
"Your birthday last month. Y-your *burp* mother she worked overtime for a month a god damn MONTH just so she could buy you your stupid fucking iPhone you love so much." Santa took a second, wondering if he was about to puke or not. After a moment he burped and continued. "Do you even remember what you said when she gave it to you?" He stared intently at Jimmy.
Jimmy said nothing for a second before meekly saying, "N-no..."
His mom chimed in quietly saying, "He said... this isn't the latest generation."
Santa gestured towards her. "You see that J-jimmy! All that work and effort your mother puts in to keep you happy and you never, *burp* you NEVER APPRECIATE IT... you... you never appreciate it" Santa began a whimper that transitioned into a full out cry. He laid sitting on the floor repeating to himself, "they never appreciate it damn it, they never appreciate any of it!"
Just then a group of elves came in the room. "Santa what's taking you so long?" When the elves saw the sorry scene in front of them the head elf said, "Jesus Christ," and looked desperately at the other elves in the group.
They approached Santa and one said, "Hey pal, you're a little drunk buddy and we're gonna get you out of here. Come on now."
Six elves gathered around Santa and helped him to his feet. They carried him out of the room as he repeatedly whimpered "they never appreciate it."
"Sorry you had to see that," said the last elf as he shut the door behind him.
Jimmy was a lot more appreciative after that.
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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It was a tepid summer night. Little Johnny Becker was loosely under his sheets, enjoying the fresh, night air as cricket chirps melted into the hum of the box fan in his window.
Little Johnny could not conceive of a more perfect night to cap off a more perfect day: pestering his mother into buying $200.00 in console games, a new cat, and skipping dinner altogether because it, “tasted like shit,” which was only met with warnings and empty threats, per usual.
Little Johnny slept like a king, unaware that a creature was stirring, *much* bigger than a mouse.
*Crash!*
A familiar body flew threw Johnny's door, shattering it as Ed lay on the floor.
Johnny jerked and jostled. Light from the hallway now intruded into Johnny's kingdom. He saw his step-father moaning on the floor.
“What the fuck, Ed? Drunker than usual? Mom's going to kill you when she gets back from karaoke and sees you smashed another door,” complained Johnny of the disturbance.
Footsteps, heavy with purpose made their way to the doorway. A round shadow slowly eclipsed the light over Ed lying on the floor.
“Little Johnny Becker…” a deep, burly voice spilled into his room, cascading it with the stench of eggnog and brandy.
He recognized the outline. He couldn't be sure. He flicked on his ‘reading’ lamp.
“Santa!” Exclaimed Johnny. “You beat up my step dad! You really are the best! I must've been extra good this year to get my present in July!”
The steps thundered. Santa drew nearer to little Johnny's bed.
*Whap!*
Open hand smack across Johnny's jaw. Johnny was seeing Christmas stars. This was followed by a good old fashioned toss across the room into Johnny's plasma TV.
Johnny lay on the floor a frightened wreck of a spoiled, little shit.
“What did I do to deserve this??” cried Johnny.
Santa slowly approached before shoving a note in Johnny's face. Johnny recognized this letter, his Christmas list.
“Have you any idea how much you requested?” Santa questioned. The note still in Johnny's face.
“I… I don't know. I just wrote things down. I mean you're magical and all…”
“72 trillion!” Santa erupted. “Have you any idea what kind of strain that puts on me!?”
“No…”
Santa stood up and began reciting Johnny's list, “Two air force ones, reanimate Babe Ruth, torture your pediatrician, end the Federal Reserve, a magic carpet, ridable dinosaurs, murder your baseball coach, a pet Xenomorph with non-acidic blood…” Santa took a deep breath and a pull of whiskey from his flask to recompose himself. He crumpled the list and dropped it on the floor. “All you little shits do is want, want, want, even the ‘good’ ones. It's enough to drive a man to drink.” He took another pull from the flask. “They don't even sell eggnog around here right now...”
Ed had regained consciousness long ago, but he didn't want to interfere with Johnny's beating. “Wouldn't a simple lump of coal done the job? Did you really have to show up in the middle of the night and beat my ass?” questioned Ed.
“You're the one raising this little shit, and I'm through with coal. Everyone's all about ‘green energy’ these days. I can't afford coal. But beatings…” He took another pull from his flask. “Beatings come free of charge.”
Santa began to work his way down the hallway. Ed and Johnny began to relax, knowing the danger was receding.
“Oh yeah,” Santa added, halting his progress, “Gina does ‘karaoke’ at Racers on Fifth Street, right? You better believe that bitch is on my 'naughty' list.”
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The two brothers eagerly lay in wait, watching the clock as it neared midnight. James, the younger of the two, turned towards his big brother.
"Surely he's not coming? Billy from school told me he wasn't even real."
Johnathan scoffed, punching his brother on the arm. "Who do you think put all that coal in my sock last year then?"
James laughed, rubbing his arm. "Dad, silly. Because you were being a little shit."
"*You certainly were.*"
The kids' eyes went wide. A figure stood swaying in the doorway, the dim light masking his features.
Johnathan stared wildly.
"...Dad?" he asked, knowing that it wasn't him.
The figure stepped forward, revealing his massive bulk and long, flowing beard. He reeked of eggnog. "Guess again, kiddo."
"*Santa?*" James asked in disbelief. "Oh my God, it's really you! I can't believe it!"
Santa briefly smirked, then surveyed the room. "Milk'n cookies? Wheres my milk and cookies?" He burped loudly.
Johnathan crossed his arms. "Presents first, fatso."
Santa blinked, not used to such imprudence. "Oh don't *hic* start, you little shit. Not tonight."
Johnathan stuck his tongue out. "Too bad, no cookies for-"
Santa swung his bag of presents wildy, connecting Johnathan on the chin and sending him careening into a nearby wall.
James was about to scream, when Santa shot a glance at him. "You want presents, or you want a beatin'?"
James thought for a bit. "Presents please," he said sweetly.
"That's what I thought," Santa said, throwing him a couple of toys, "that's what I thought."
He sloppily patted James on the head then stumbled out of the house, waving and mounting his sleigh unsteadily. James watched him go with a strange sense of admiration.
Santa whipped the reigns and took to the skies. Police sirens could be heard in the distance.
"Merry Christmas to all," he cried, as he took a massive swig from a gourd, "and to all a good night!"
He thought for a while, unsatisfied, as the sleigh dangerously leant to the left.
"Apart from all you naughty little shits, ho-ho-*ho!*"
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[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them.
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On December 25, 2016, some parents awoke with the sun coming through their windows instead of little children bouncing all over the bed. *Was it possible?* they wondered. *Had their children really slept in on* **Christmas** *of all days?* Across the world, mothers and fathers rose from their beds and put on their slippers. They passed the decorated evergreen in their living room and entered their children's bedrooms, only to find them empty. And though the parents cried and wailed and moaned for their loss, deep down in their hearts there was just the slightest bit of relief. Because the only children who had disappeared were the truly *naughty* children.
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Elves with bull whips shepherded the children through the dimly-lit hallway carved through slick ice. Every time one of the little boys or girls whined or tried to question where they were going, they were answered with a resounding *crack* with the whip licking the air right in front of their faces. The elves, who toiled day-in and day-out to reward the good little boys and girls around the world, were more than happy to mete out justice to the naughty as well. Particularly the elves who had been assigned to the coal mines.
The teeming mass of children arrived in a gigantic underground room. The ones who’d been spoiled rotten sat down and wailed until their cheeks were red, but no one came to scoop them up and try to stop their crying. Those who were cruel and vicious tried to destroy the walls of the great arena, but they had nothing that would even scratch the ice. Still more tried to bully and humiliate their peers, dividing some of the naughty into strata of naughtiness in a Darwinian display. In only an hour of waiting, all of the children proved why they had been brought there in the first place.
A spotlight snapped on at the far end of the arena, where the shadows were darkest. Santa Claus stood looking just like they’d always imagined. He wore a thick red coat, and a bushy white beard trailed down to his enormous belly. Some of the children gasped, thinking that their savior had come. But then they saw the look in his eye.
“For a thousand years,” he growled, words slurring just a bit. A closer inspection would have revealed eggnog spilled across his collar and soaked into his beard. The children were too young to really understand “drunk,” though a few of them certainly saw reflections of their own fathers in Saint Nick. “I’ve gone ‘round the world carrying a whole sack full of coal for you brats!” His whole body shook as he belched. “Do you have any idea how *heavy* that shit is?”
More children began to cry. They couldn’t understand why *Santa* of all people was yelling at them the way that their parents and teachers often did.
“Cut that out!” he barked. A few of them actually did. “Well today, we’re gonna settle this! Once and for all.” He raised his fists. “’Ere’s the deal. You all manage to take me down, and I'll bring you back home. And you get all the toys you want. ” The elves in the audience all exchanged looks; when Santa had told *them* about this impromptu battle royale, he hadn’t mentioned that part. And they were the ones who'd have to slave away in the workshop to fulfill that promise. “But if *I* win, then I ain’t never bringing you *nothing* ever again!” He was slurring more and more as he went on, and swayed gently from side to side.
The children all hesitated, but Santa didn’t. He stomped into the crowd with his big black boots and aimed a kick at little Tom Lewis from Modesto, CA. Unfortunately Santa's aim wasn’t so great in his intoxicated state, and he didn’t even come close. Instead, he ended up losing his balance and falling on his back.
The arena was silent. The elves had all assumed that Santa had an actual *plan* here and would use his magic. Mrs. Claus was just shaking her head and enjoying a tall glass of eggnog herself. But the children didn’t know how to react. That is, until Barry Deveret of Bushwick, Indiana stood up and shouted “GET HIM!” A moment later, Santa was buried under a hail of punches and kicks and bites.
Mrs. Claus just laughed as a cry for help managed to escape from under the dogpile of children. “Told you this would happen, you big fat-ass!” she cackled.
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"C'mon," Santa slurred, and dragged little Bobby Nussman out of bed. "Put up yer dukes! Put up yer dukes! Ya little brat!"
"Santa?" Bobby said, and blinked. The old man's belly was swaying like a punching bag, the fur tunic come unbuttoned and his white wifebeater peeking through. The big brass buckle of his belt was undone. "You wanna fight!" Bobby shrieked, and kicked out, his bare feet bouncing off Santa's fat.
"You know what yer doing to your mother!" Santa bellowed, his breath heavy with booze, and cuffed Bobby on the side of the head, sending him sprawling on the floor. Bobby scraped his face across the floorboards and tasted blood. "Ya little brat! Ya selfish little brat! All tucked up tight on Christmas Eve like yer still expectin' something from ol' Santy!" His cheeks jiggled, his face was flushed red. "No one deserves anything, kid," Santa panted. He grabbed Bobby by the hair. "But boy oh boy, ya sure do deserve this."
Bobby screamed and spat and fought like a wildcat, fingers clawing at Santa's beard and closing down on it and pulling it loose. Santa flung him down and towered above him, belly blocking out what little light there was. Bobby's eyes narrowed, staring up at the newly clean shaven face, and he set his little teeth in his jaw. His hands tightened into fists. "I didn't believe in Santa anyway!" he spat.
"Oh boy," said Santa, rolling up his sleeves. He slid off his belt and wound the big brass buckle in front of his knuckles. "Oh boy oh boy. Ya thought ya were gonna get coal, huh? Oh boy. Yer gonna see just how right your old man was."
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[WP] You have the power to see how many people someone has killed, based on a number above their head only you can see. Most people are at a zero, but one day you spot a particular toddler with a 109.
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At first, I didn't know what the numbers meant. It's something I stopped bringing up once I realised that other people couldn't see them, and that mentioning it would only elicit strange looks and visits to a therapist. When my brother, who'd always had a 0 above his head, came home, clammy and pale faced, with a 3 hovering above him, I wondered what it meant. I stopped wondering when the police paid us a visit, and arrested my brother on 3 counts of manslaughter as a result of drunk driving.
Of course, the numbers can be a bit disquieting. I try not to judge. It's usually not straight up murder, and I get that accidents happen, bad things, good people, etc. But shit, I couldn't believe it the first time I saw this kid.
He was only about 2 years old, but above his tuft of soft blonde hair, the 109 stuck out, stark and bold and imposing.
“He's such a great boy, a really good sleeper, so you shouldn't have any trouble with him.” His mother looked normal. What the hell was wrong here?
“We'll be back around 10pm. Feel free to watch a movie, we have a pretty decent collection.” The father was also a perfect model of suburbia, with his thick rimmed glasses and sweater vest.
As soon as they left the house, I checked the kid. He was in his crib, already fast asleep. I began to research. I rummaged through desk drawers and cabinets, sifting through files and certificates and toys and asthma inhalers and packets of formula and the other mundane nonsense of this young child's life for any information I could find on why he had 109 above his head.
A clipping from the newspaper gave me the first clue. 'Outbreak of whooping cough ravages children in Helmsville'. Guess who was patient zero? About 20 other kids weren't so lucky. The second came after some searching on the Internet, 'Childcare centre in Stuartholme County devastated by fire; 49 dead.' Countless others were injured through smoke inhalation. They still don't know how he got the matches. Freak accident at the zoo; tragic situation at a local swimming pool; first birthday party ends in disaster – these things just seemed to keep happening around him.
When you're given a power, I believe that you should use it in a way that helps others. You're destined to try and do something with it. Maybe this kid was just unlucky, maybe he was cursed, maybe it was a all a coincidence, but I could already tell that he was not destined to help others.
I babysat the kid a few more times. He passed away in his sleep. Doctors weren't surprised. The kid had a bad pair of lungs.
My number's been sitting at 1 for a while but I'm okay with it now – as I said, I try not to judge.
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Talking to myself "I've always had this weird pow-", "W-w-what's that?" While I take off my glasses, clean them and rub my eyes. "Am I hallucinating? Has this toddler really murdered 109 people?" I walk and approach its guardians "hello!" I greet them, they reply with a dead voice looking at me "hello, are you the so called prophet?" They asked "Prophet?" I reply confused "he is supposed to take our baby because she is dangerous for some reason" "I see, they just haven't realized what their baby has done or what it might actually be!", "is she your daughter?" I asked confidently, while getting an answer from the 17 month old toddler "did you just assume my gender?"
My first story please go easy on me
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[WP] You have the power to see how many people someone has killed, based on a number above their head only you can see. Most people are at a zero, but one day you spot a particular toddler with a 109.
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What does your average fifteen-year-old expect when he is called to babysit a distant relative's six-months-old baby? Some crying, some singing the baby to sleep, in extreme cases, possibly changing the diaper, that's all. It was supposed to be easy money. The little bugger was supposed to go to sleep and I was supposed to watch TV until his parents came home and paid me five dollars per hour. The money would have gone to my skateboard fund and I would have gone to sleep with a satisfied smile.
All that plans jumped out of the window headfirst into the ground with a loud *splat* when I saw that vibrant green colored "109" floating into the smiling baby's head. The writing was beautiful as if written in some kind of exotic font. The color suited the text; it created a harmonious amalgamation of ...
The hell I am thinking about!? 109? Fucking 109?
Calm down, calm down. Long breath, yeah, that's like it.
I suppose an explanation is in order. From a very young age, I have seen a floating number on top of everyone's head. It drove my parents nuts, their little angel look up at something invisible and laughing with glee everytime uncle Ernie came to visit. Thankfully, it used to cheer up the perpetually depressed uncle Ernie. Things had never been the same for him since Vietnam. Good bloke, pity he killed himself, though.
The mystery of the numbers resolved when I happened to witness an event that was enough to induce PTSD in a normal 10-year-old had he not been too busy noticing the change of the floating 0 to a 1 than the actual stabbing. It was then that it clicked. Why uncle Ernie had a "10" on his head and why most people had 0.
Life after that was hard. I became obsessed with the numbers. I would focus more on those floating count of murder than the person himself. I never went to my best friend's home because of the "2" on his mother's head. Mathematics, my favorite subject became my weakest overnight because of the floating "3" on Mr. Wilson. It was hard.
Of course, five years of coping with my obsession that my parents never quite understood and my therapist cried tears of blood over, I was gradually starting to become normal again. The trick was to just treat them as numbers, nothing more. I was making a great progress too. Until today.
Part 2, anyone?
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Talking to myself "I've always had this weird pow-", "W-w-what's that?" While I take off my glasses, clean them and rub my eyes. "Am I hallucinating? Has this toddler really murdered 109 people?" I walk and approach its guardians "hello!" I greet them, they reply with a dead voice looking at me "hello, are you the so called prophet?" They asked "Prophet?" I reply confused "he is supposed to take our baby because she is dangerous for some reason" "I see, they just haven't realized what their baby has done or what it might actually be!", "is she your daughter?" I asked confidently, while getting an answer from the 17 month old toddler "did you just assume my gender?"
My first story please go easy on me
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[WP] There is a 2-4 week window in which the sun lies between Earth and Mars, making communication impossible. Thirteen months after the first Mars colony is established, one planet decides to pull the greatest prank in human history.
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Chapter VII - The First Interplanetary Civil War
Widely Considered one of the greatest blunders in human history, the First Interplanetary Civil War (henceforth referred to simply as FIC War) happens at quite an atypical time in human history. While humanity itself had established tenous colonies on Mars for about 200 years at this point, humanity's ability to manipulate gravitational forces was extremely weak, meaning that when the sun was directly between the Earth and mars, an event happening once every 27.3 years, communications were impossible as humanity did not yet have the ability to set up intra-solar communication satellites.
It is not within the scope of this textbook to discuss the development of human progress for such a discrepancy to occur, yet is nonetheless critical to the catalyst of this bloody affair.
During the time, tensions had been abnormally high between Martian colonies A1B and 3C4 (the reasons should be made clear in Chapter 4), yet it was nothing to much to worry about as at the time Earth politics were considered of far more importance than Martian ones, and no one paid any heed to such developments.
However, on the night before the disconnect was to happen some disturbing reports were reported to the UN intelligence agency (still unknown to the larger public at the time, see Chapter 9 for more detail) suggesting that anarchists had been planning to take over key military installations in the two colonies had use them to fire nuclear warheads on one another (the warheads were placed there in accordance with the 312th Versailles Accords). And just before communications fell, several cries for help and/or simply screaming were to have been sent by colonists to their relatives.
What follows is a quite indicative of human nature and a culmination of Terra-superiority that stayed for years to come. The majority of the population celebrated, glad to be rid the "Martians" as they were referred to. the Purist party, which was the main contender for the UN senate next election had increasingly encouraged followers to demand what was theirs, they reasoned Mars was just a leech on Earth's resources, when, in reality, Mars was an invaluable resource was raw material.
Nevertheless, when the period of silence ended and Mars was able to be contacted once again, it was reveled that it had been a prank, that is, a practical joke.
Naturally, there were riots on the streets of Earth, some radicals calling for Mars to be nuked anyways. Martians were distraught, and claimed the Earth's ugly prejudices had come to light.
After the AC5-S tower and Mt. Oc6 terrorist incidents (discussed in Chapter 8), tensions boiled over and the Martian Corps attacked the lunar base, at the time still loyal to Earth.
Although seemingly foolish and rather funny in a morbid way, some historians argue that the war was a necessary diffusion of tensions, that it forced prejudices into light. Regardless, the fact of the matter remains: a bloody civil war that stretched for 2.6 years started because of someone's sick idea of a practical joke.
***
It's supposed to be an entry in like a history textbook. Low on time today, so I decided to try a non-traditional way to tell a story all while taking some jabs at textbooks themselves.
Feedback is appreciated.
(minor edits)
|
Commander Anuj Bilel, COM director on MarStat001, paced the 20 foot expanse of the radio room. His rhythmic footfalls were the only sounds in the room save for the hush of static emanating from the speakers. Another 60 seconds and the Interplanetary Silence (I.S.) would come to a close. The colony had followed operation procedure flawlessly over the course of the month. The absence of disaster during the I.S. was an overwhelming success not only for the colonists, but for humanity as a whole.
Junior officers Arnett and Majilang poised at their respective stations. They exchanged a glance between themselves every couple of seconds to acknowledge the overwhelming energy in the room. Most of that abundance of energy was a direct result of Bilel's brisk back and forth. They'd finished COM maintenance hours ago. They were tuned to appropriate frequencies, double checked every half hour since zero hundred hours central earth time. Bilel commanded Arnett to triple check the speaker volume.
"Yes, sir," said Arnett.
"Twenty seconds," Majilang called.
"Countdown from ten," Bilel instructed. He stopped pacing. Perspiration began to condense on his neck. He didn't attempt to blot it away, but remained at attention, eyes trained to the communications monitors studding the radio room walls. His fists knotted into one another behind his back.
"COMs open and locked in, Commander," said Arnett.
Bilel grunted acknowledgement, unable to tear his eyes from the screens.
"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven." said Majilang.
The timing was calculated so that the second Majilang said 'one,' was the exact moment that COMs between Earth and MarStat001 could be reestablished.
"Six. Five. Four."
Bilel shifted imperceptibly from one food to the other. His focus snapped from Majilang's station to Arnett's and back. "Prepare to receive transmission," he said.
"Three. Two. One. Zero."
Silence would have been preferable. That'd at least signify that *something* was transmitting to them. Instead, the blanket of static that had settled over them remain undisturbed.
Bilel and his officers had triple checked everything. If something had failed, it hadn't been from their end.
"Sir," said Arnett, after a moment. "What should we do?"
Bilel didn't bother asking the two of them to check their work again. "Majilang, hail Dr. Peters here to the radio room stat. We need to run those calculations again." Bilel's voice seemed distant from himself.
"Sir," Majilang said, springing to her feet and sprinting from the room.
Arnett's fingers danced furiously across the keys and switches in front of him, investigating every potential interruption in the signal from earth. The I.S. had been tolerable because it had been foreseeable. The colony had not only survived, it had thrived in the absence of higher order from earth. Terra-forming was already ahead of schedule and agriculture had filed incredibly promising reports. Lack of communication from earth after today would place the colony in a precarious situation. Order would remain for a while, at least, but without the promise of supplies from earth in the future, mutiny was sure to be on the horizon.
Majilang burst back in to the room, Dr. Peters in tow. The older man's skin was pasty, his eyes wide. "The calculations are entirely accurate," Dr. Peters said before Bilel could address him properly. "I ran them again just an hour ago, and triple checked them with my colleagues on earth before the I.S." His pale eyes bore into Bilel, unrelenting in their self-absurdness. "You *should* be receiving transmission from earth."
Commander Anuj Bilel cursed. Arnett's fingers continued their frenzy across his keys. "Junior officer Arnett. Remain here to monitor COMs. I will patch you through to the conference hall. We need to alert the entire base and gather the commanding officers to discuss our next steps."
______
"Arnett, do you copy," said Bilel.
Arnett's voice crackled in through the intercom, "Yes, sir. Any communications from Earth will be relayed to you directly and immediately."
Commanding officers from each discipline were arranged around the long rectangular table. There were thirty there in all. The colony was on total lock-down, their fate pending the verdict of this discussion.
Bilel stood before them. "The I.S. persists," he said, looking directly at General Edmonds, the highest ranking officer on Mars.
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[WP] There is a 2-4 week window in which the sun lies between Earth and Mars, making communication impossible. Thirteen months after the first Mars colony is established, one planet decides to pull the greatest prank in human history.
|
James woke up feeling unnaturally happy. He didn't expect the lack of comms to hit him so hard, but being the only person on a planet without any form of communication had gotten to him.
Regardless. Today was the day. He could finally communicate with the world again.
He got up, showering and preparing his morning coffee. He knew it seemed silly, but he didn't want to seem overeager, like he was too excited. He felt like he needed to be strong for everyone back at home.
James sipped his coffee, watching the Martian sunrise. It was a thing of beauty, it really was. He heard the comms unit whirring to life, and he smiled. It was time.
The screen in front of him turned on, and his commanding officer stared back at him. He felt a shudder of relief.
"Greetings, sir," James said, putting his coffee down on the table. "How are things back on Earth?"
The commander smiled. "Great! Just great, how about you? Can't believe it's already been two years, eh?"
James frowned, then smirked. "Two? It's been just over a year, get your head straight!"
The commander narrowed his eyes, then laughed. "Ah, James! Always a sense of humour on you. Listen, I'll be right back, we've been having some anomalies back here-"
The screen suddenly shut off. James sat there in silence for a while, contemplating what happened. It had only been a year, he was sure of it.
He got up, and all the lights abruptly switched off - causing him to accidently knock his coffee to the floor. He swore, kneeling down to clean it up, and noticed the date on the comms screen.
*2 years.*
25 months. How could this be?
The screen switched on, with the commander staring back at him. Was he wearing a different outfit?
James felt sick. "Sir, I don't know what's happening, but, I don't know."
The commander looked concerned. "What is it?"
"I think... I think something's wrong here, sir. You're going to think I'm crazy, but-"
The commander burst out laughing. "Calm down man, just a practical joke. One of the interns figured we could change the ship's date remotely, and we just couldn't resist." He laughed again, wiping a tear from his eye.
James wanted to be angry, but honestly all he felt was an immense sense of relief. He forced a laugh. "Good one, commander," he said gritting his teeth, "nice job with the lights especially."
The commander looked at him, confused.
"The lights..?" He turned to a man at his side, who shook his head. Then he leant closer, peering at James with concern.
"You doing ok, son? We haven't encountered any errors in your ship's log. Could it-"
The signal dropped out, leaving only static on the screen.
The lights briefly flickered, casting him in a flashing darkness. Then the screen switched on, and the commander gazed at him, wearing a different outfit and looking somewhat more weatherworn.
"James! Good to see you, good to see you. Sorry about our lack of communication - four years today, eh? Big day!"
James stared at him. This joke had stretched on too long - but how had he switched outfits so quickly? And how had they made him age like that? He looked at the date.
*Four years.*
"Sir, please, Enough of this. I don't know what's happening, but if you could-"
The lights flickered again, and then the whole ship was cast in darkness. Then, just the screen switched on, and a regal woman stared back at him.
"James, we'll get you out soon," she said, her face slowly softening. "My God... it's like you haven't aged a day."
He looked at her wildly. The date blinked, flashing across his vision.
*12 years.*
James struggled to hold himself together. "Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but where is the commander? What the hell is happening?"
She stared at him with concern. He could just make out her whisper to someone offscreen, "we need to get him out quickly."
She turned her attention back to him. "James, please, whatever you do, *don't let the dark-*"
The lights went out. No flickering, no sounds. Just pure and utter black.
And in the darkness, James screamed.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Commander Anuj Bilel, COM director on MarStat001, paced the 20 foot expanse of the radio room. His rhythmic footfalls were the only sounds in the room save for the hush of static emanating from the speakers. Another 60 seconds and the Interplanetary Silence (I.S.) would come to a close. The colony had followed operation procedure flawlessly over the course of the month. The absence of disaster during the I.S. was an overwhelming success not only for the colonists, but for humanity as a whole.
Junior officers Arnett and Majilang poised at their respective stations. They exchanged a glance between themselves every couple of seconds to acknowledge the overwhelming energy in the room. Most of that abundance of energy was a direct result of Bilel's brisk back and forth. They'd finished COM maintenance hours ago. They were tuned to appropriate frequencies, double checked every half hour since zero hundred hours central earth time. Bilel commanded Arnett to triple check the speaker volume.
"Yes, sir," said Arnett.
"Twenty seconds," Majilang called.
"Countdown from ten," Bilel instructed. He stopped pacing. Perspiration began to condense on his neck. He didn't attempt to blot it away, but remained at attention, eyes trained to the communications monitors studding the radio room walls. His fists knotted into one another behind his back.
"COMs open and locked in, Commander," said Arnett.
Bilel grunted acknowledgement, unable to tear his eyes from the screens.
"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven." said Majilang.
The timing was calculated so that the second Majilang said 'one,' was the exact moment that COMs between Earth and MarStat001 could be reestablished.
"Six. Five. Four."
Bilel shifted imperceptibly from one food to the other. His focus snapped from Majilang's station to Arnett's and back. "Prepare to receive transmission," he said.
"Three. Two. One. Zero."
Silence would have been preferable. That'd at least signify that *something* was transmitting to them. Instead, the blanket of static that had settled over them remain undisturbed.
Bilel and his officers had triple checked everything. If something had failed, it hadn't been from their end.
"Sir," said Arnett, after a moment. "What should we do?"
Bilel didn't bother asking the two of them to check their work again. "Majilang, hail Dr. Peters here to the radio room stat. We need to run those calculations again." Bilel's voice seemed distant from himself.
"Sir," Majilang said, springing to her feet and sprinting from the room.
Arnett's fingers danced furiously across the keys and switches in front of him, investigating every potential interruption in the signal from earth. The I.S. had been tolerable because it had been foreseeable. The colony had not only survived, it had thrived in the absence of higher order from earth. Terra-forming was already ahead of schedule and agriculture had filed incredibly promising reports. Lack of communication from earth after today would place the colony in a precarious situation. Order would remain for a while, at least, but without the promise of supplies from earth in the future, mutiny was sure to be on the horizon.
Majilang burst back in to the room, Dr. Peters in tow. The older man's skin was pasty, his eyes wide. "The calculations are entirely accurate," Dr. Peters said before Bilel could address him properly. "I ran them again just an hour ago, and triple checked them with my colleagues on earth before the I.S." His pale eyes bore into Bilel, unrelenting in their self-absurdness. "You *should* be receiving transmission from earth."
Commander Anuj Bilel cursed. Arnett's fingers continued their frenzy across his keys. "Junior officer Arnett. Remain here to monitor COMs. I will patch you through to the conference hall. We need to alert the entire base and gather the commanding officers to discuss our next steps."
______
"Arnett, do you copy," said Bilel.
Arnett's voice crackled in through the intercom, "Yes, sir. Any communications from Earth will be relayed to you directly and immediately."
Commanding officers from each discipline were arranged around the long rectangular table. There were thirty there in all. The colony was on total lock-down, their fate pending the verdict of this discussion.
Bilel stood before them. "The I.S. persists," he said, looking directly at General Edmonds, the highest ranking officer on Mars.
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[WP] There is a 2-4 week window in which the sun lies between Earth and Mars, making communication impossible. Thirteen months after the first Mars colony is established, one planet decides to pull the greatest prank in human history.
|
James woke up feeling unnaturally happy. He didn't expect the lack of comms to hit him so hard, but being the only person on a planet without any form of communication had gotten to him.
Regardless. Today was the day. He could finally communicate with the world again.
He got up, showering and preparing his morning coffee. He knew it seemed silly, but he didn't want to seem overeager, like he was too excited. He felt like he needed to be strong for everyone back at home.
James sipped his coffee, watching the Martian sunrise. It was a thing of beauty, it really was. He heard the comms unit whirring to life, and he smiled. It was time.
The screen in front of him turned on, and his commanding officer stared back at him. He felt a shudder of relief.
"Greetings, sir," James said, putting his coffee down on the table. "How are things back on Earth?"
The commander smiled. "Great! Just great, how about you? Can't believe it's already been two years, eh?"
James frowned, then smirked. "Two? It's been just over a year, get your head straight!"
The commander narrowed his eyes, then laughed. "Ah, James! Always a sense of humour on you. Listen, I'll be right back, we've been having some anomalies back here-"
The screen suddenly shut off. James sat there in silence for a while, contemplating what happened. It had only been a year, he was sure of it.
He got up, and all the lights abruptly switched off - causing him to accidently knock his coffee to the floor. He swore, kneeling down to clean it up, and noticed the date on the comms screen.
*2 years.*
25 months. How could this be?
The screen switched on, with the commander staring back at him. Was he wearing a different outfit?
James felt sick. "Sir, I don't know what's happening, but, I don't know."
The commander looked concerned. "What is it?"
"I think... I think something's wrong here, sir. You're going to think I'm crazy, but-"
The commander burst out laughing. "Calm down man, just a practical joke. One of the interns figured we could change the ship's date remotely, and we just couldn't resist." He laughed again, wiping a tear from his eye.
James wanted to be angry, but honestly all he felt was an immense sense of relief. He forced a laugh. "Good one, commander," he said gritting his teeth, "nice job with the lights especially."
The commander looked at him, confused.
"The lights..?" He turned to a man at his side, who shook his head. Then he leant closer, peering at James with concern.
"You doing ok, son? We haven't encountered any errors in your ship's log. Could it-"
The signal dropped out, leaving only static on the screen.
The lights briefly flickered, casting him in a flashing darkness. Then the screen switched on, and the commander gazed at him, wearing a different outfit and looking somewhat more weatherworn.
"James! Good to see you, good to see you. Sorry about our lack of communication - four years today, eh? Big day!"
James stared at him. This joke had stretched on too long - but how had he switched outfits so quickly? And how had they made him age like that? He looked at the date.
*Four years.*
"Sir, please, Enough of this. I don't know what's happening, but if you could-"
The lights flickered again, and then the whole ship was cast in darkness. Then, just the screen switched on, and a regal woman stared back at him.
"James, we'll get you out soon," she said, her face slowly softening. "My God... it's like you haven't aged a day."
He looked at her wildly. The date blinked, flashing across his vision.
*12 years.*
James struggled to hold himself together. "Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but where is the commander? What the hell is happening?"
She stared at him with concern. He could just make out her whisper to someone offscreen, "we need to get him out quickly."
She turned her attention back to him. "James, please, whatever you do, *don't let the dark-*"
The lights went out. No flickering, no sounds. Just pure and utter black.
And in the darkness, James screamed.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Chapter VII - The First Interplanetary Civil War
Widely Considered one of the greatest blunders in human history, the First Interplanetary Civil War (henceforth referred to simply as FIC War) happens at quite an atypical time in human history. While humanity itself had established tenous colonies on Mars for about 200 years at this point, humanity's ability to manipulate gravitational forces was extremely weak, meaning that when the sun was directly between the Earth and mars, an event happening once every 27.3 years, communications were impossible as humanity did not yet have the ability to set up intra-solar communication satellites.
It is not within the scope of this textbook to discuss the development of human progress for such a discrepancy to occur, yet is nonetheless critical to the catalyst of this bloody affair.
During the time, tensions had been abnormally high between Martian colonies A1B and 3C4 (the reasons should be made clear in Chapter 4), yet it was nothing to much to worry about as at the time Earth politics were considered of far more importance than Martian ones, and no one paid any heed to such developments.
However, on the night before the disconnect was to happen some disturbing reports were reported to the UN intelligence agency (still unknown to the larger public at the time, see Chapter 9 for more detail) suggesting that anarchists had been planning to take over key military installations in the two colonies had use them to fire nuclear warheads on one another (the warheads were placed there in accordance with the 312th Versailles Accords). And just before communications fell, several cries for help and/or simply screaming were to have been sent by colonists to their relatives.
What follows is a quite indicative of human nature and a culmination of Terra-superiority that stayed for years to come. The majority of the population celebrated, glad to be rid the "Martians" as they were referred to. the Purist party, which was the main contender for the UN senate next election had increasingly encouraged followers to demand what was theirs, they reasoned Mars was just a leech on Earth's resources, when, in reality, Mars was an invaluable resource was raw material.
Nevertheless, when the period of silence ended and Mars was able to be contacted once again, it was reveled that it had been a prank, that is, a practical joke.
Naturally, there were riots on the streets of Earth, some radicals calling for Mars to be nuked anyways. Martians were distraught, and claimed the Earth's ugly prejudices had come to light.
After the AC5-S tower and Mt. Oc6 terrorist incidents (discussed in Chapter 8), tensions boiled over and the Martian Corps attacked the lunar base, at the time still loyal to Earth.
Although seemingly foolish and rather funny in a morbid way, some historians argue that the war was a necessary diffusion of tensions, that it forced prejudices into light. Regardless, the fact of the matter remains: a bloody civil war that stretched for 2.6 years started because of someone's sick idea of a practical joke.
***
It's supposed to be an entry in like a history textbook. Low on time today, so I decided to try a non-traditional way to tell a story all while taking some jabs at textbooks themselves.
Feedback is appreciated.
(minor edits)
|
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[WP] Aliens invade Earth. The only problem is, Humanity is so god damn unpredictable that they can't win.
|
R'drrk sat in the dust. His pilot's suit was torn and bloodied. He suspected at least four broken bones and possibly some internal bleeding. He spat out a partially coagulated orb of bluish-green blood that immediately soaked into the hardpan on his left.
R'drrk's communicator trilled at him. Of course, he thought, the one godsforsaken piece of gear that didn't get smashed to shit in that crash. He slapped the switch to open the circuit.
"Pilot 7X-359, what is your status?" Looked like Command just couldn't wait to chew his ass on this one. They knew damned good and well what his status was - they just wanted to run his nose in it.
"I crashed. Currently sitting on the ground re-examining my decision to enlist. How's things up there in your comfortable chair, D'elik?" Comma protocol strictly forbade using actual names. R'drrk was just about ready to tell them to go to Hell anyway.
"'359, observe protocol! Are you injured?"
"Yeah, I got scuffed up a little on the landing." He looked back at the column of thick black smoke roiling out of his impact crater. Calling it a landing was generous. "You gonna send somebody to pick me up?"
"Negative '359. All units engaged. Your area especially hostile." Control was being a dick about him losing the ship.
"Well, I'm not just going to sit out here in the open where any of these crazy bastards can find me."
"Negative '359. Maintain position for eventual extraction."
"'Eventual extraction'? Are you insane? There's no way you're getting down here. I'm the best pilot in the fleet and they tore my ass up like I was a rookie. Do you know they have just, like, so many guns? Primitive slugthrowers, sure. But there's just so damned many! It was like rain on the bottom of my ship. By the time I landed I could damn near have just put my feet through the floor and walked it in."
"... Understood '359. "
"So now you listen. I'm gonna try to hide my ass before one of these indigs finds me. What can you tell me about this region?" R'drrk started walking towards what could have mountains or rocks if he had any sense of distance in this awful place.
"... Not much. Dry. Desert conditions. A few sparse settlements. You shouldn't have too much trouble staying away from locals but food and water could be hard to find."
"Great. Do you know when I was crashing I was pretty sure I saw some kind of land vehicle chasing me? Like that's a normal thing to do. 'Hey look, a giant radioactive ball of fire is plummeting out of the sky - let's race it!' How the hell did evolution not breed the crazy out?"
"Unknown '359. Scanners do show possible local activity in your sector though."
"Of course it does. Didn't the pre-mission briefings say something about weak governance?"
"Yes, particularly in your sector. Each individual is allowed wide autonomy. There is a local government and a larger central government, neither of which typically interfere in the ordinary course of events on a personal level. There is no planetary government."
"Holy shit. So you're telling me any one of these savages could show up, capture me, and do whatever they want to me? And no one would stop them?"
"For the most part yes. They may face a fine."
"That's just great. Look, I'm gonna hang up now. Wait - what did you say the name of this piece was?"
"The local planetary designation is 'Earth'."
"No, not the planet. Just this region I'm in."
"According to our records, the locals call it 'Texas'."
"Fucking Texas." R'drrk slammed the circuit closed.
|
The alien fleet was seen well before it got within 100 AU's of Earth, but even with the time to prepare, we knew we would suffer heavy losses during first contact. Every attempt to communicate, talk, negotiate, even plead was met with contempt by the aliens. They had come to enslave, pillage, and use Earth's materials to build up their fleet. Once their fleet came past Jupiter, using the gas giants atmosphere to brake, we got the first glimpse of our demise.
From what could only be mass drivers, the leading ships sent cylinders of tungsten and similar metals to take out our orbital facilities, and destroy population centers on Earth. We had manufactories in space, but only for small scale operations and scientific expeditions.
It is here humanity made a choice to fight.
"Goddamn it, we cannot survive up here for more than a few hours!" Tyler raged at Earth Defense Central Command, a hastily created organization pulling the best and brightest from every single nation on Earth with a space program, designed to handle first contact with the enemy, and command all battles in space and at the edge of the atmosphere.
"Survival Capsule #9583, we are doing our best to arrange emergency rescue operations. There are hundreds of people in tens of pods and hastily sealed sections of former stations that we need to deal with. Not to mention, the Bogies are about to pass Lunar orbit."
Seemingly, in the hot and cramped segment of what had once been the US NASA Exploration Control Center, everything went cold. Nobody had thought it even possible for a ship to decelerate as quickly as the Bogies ships did, and still aim for high Earth orbit in the first pass.
"If you cannot get to us, we're going to die!"
The operator on the other end became quiet, and then apologized. "I'm.. I'm sorry, we just cannot get to everyone. May God protect us all."
And with that prayer from CentCom, the comm unit stopped broadcasting.
"What's happening, Tyler?" A young scientist, brilliant by all accords, worriedly floated over after hearing Tyler yelling.
"They've abandoned us. We may not be rescued."
Another voice pipped up from the far end,
"But... They have to!"
Another voice muttered,
"not if they don't have any more ships not on defense duty."
"But we're American citizens!"
Tyler turned to face the speaker, an older woman who was the main HR rep on the station. He spoke somberly, though 'matter of fact'.
"Right now, it doesn't matter who we are or where we're from. If they cannot send anybody, we will die like the rest."
**17 hours later**
Now the station segment was freezing. The heat shields had been shredded, part of the reason they hadn't died in the initial destruction of the station, but that didn't much matter now. For hours Tyler had been pleading and fiddling with the radio. He was no comms tech, but he had experience with just about every electrical device under the sun had come in handy. But to no avail. At first, he'd received apologies and prayers from other stranded survivors, or rescue ships. Then, all ships had been tasked for military duties, mine laying and such and he was repeatedly told to 'clear the air'. Finally, the screaming started.
After 20 minutes of that, sitting silently, everyone listening to other people, humans, die in the vacuum of space, Tyler put his hand through the comms unit.
"It's of no use now", he said. "They've come."
The survivors huddled together, fearing this was the last few hours they'd ever have. Stuck in a cold, dark, and soon-to-be lifeless segment of a former space station, they resigned themselves to their fates, looking around at the other 50 people standing, sitting, or crouching. Two of them had already died, and were tied to a hand hold so they couldn't float around too much.
**later, undetermined**
The station segment lurched, flinging humans about. Tyler, groggy and falling in and out of sleep as he was inching closer and closer to death, jolted awake. By now, at least half of the survivors were dead. The station segment then jolted as if under power, and all bodies, living and dead, were flung towards the back as the segment was accelerated.
Were they going to be rescued? Tyler wondered before passing out again.
He was jolted awake once more, as the segment appeared to be dropped into an area with gravity, and the living and dead, men and women he'd worked with for years, threatened to crush the life out of him.
One end was torn away, exposing a view of ship after ship in a gigantic hangar. Nothing like he'd ever seen. And then, suited figures that were surely not human started dragging out the living and the dead. The living were dismembered partially, in what seemed to be a random choice by the aliens. And the screams could be heard echoing across the giant bay, muted by the vastness of the hangar.
An alien pulled two dead humans off of him, and even though Tyler could barely move, he saw the young scientist, start to wake up and struggle. The alien barely paused as it tore a leg from the scientist, who started to scream, a haunting almost inhuman sound. But it was human, after all.
Tyler looked around, and it was then his hearing started to filter more and more from the carnage of sound beyond. A disjointed voice, speaking in English, was demanding the surrender of all humans.
"Your homes are destroyed, you are now our [unintelligible]" the voice repeated. "You live and die at our command. We are your masters."
Tyler groped around, looking for something, anything he might find that he could fight with. Suddenly a third alien figure grabbed him, and started dragging him from underneath the pile of the dead. He went limp, hoping to God that the alien didn't feel the need to tear off a limb or three.
He was dragged out, and tossed near a group of huddled humans, bodily thudding on the ground. He could barely move, and lay there, witnessing the carnage, the bloodshed, and the utter indifference the aliens had towards their captives.
As he rolled onto his side, hoping to shield himself from viewing this, he saw a long steel piece of metal lying nearby. Not quite close enough to grab, but not far enough away to be completely out of reach. He could move his arms, and somewhat move his legs, as the feeling in both came back to him. He started crawling for the debris.
Suddenly, white hot searing pain flooded through him, and he heard crunching sounds. He turned his head just enough to see one of the large aliens standing on his leg, crushing it, aided by the weight of it's suit.
It leaned down (or did something that looked like leaning) and garbled noise came from it for a solid minute, until it said "Fighting is useless, you obey or die. As we all have." Tyler barely heard the alien, as he was still struggling to remain conscious as the alien drove his foot harder into the broken leg. He definitely didn't have time to figure out what the alien meant.
Hours later, he regained consciousness, still in the same position. Nobody had helped him, or even apparently moved from the huddled mass of people. But the piece of metal was still there, still almost within his reach. With every inch he moved closer towards it, only seeing that. It was his salvation, his only hope.
No alien saw him move this time, and he reached it after an agonizing half an hour, his broken leg threatening to bring him back to unconsciousness every step of the way.
He took it, and first used it to lever himself up. Amazingly, the aliens were focused on another segment of a space station, and the poor people inside. He looked back at his fellow humans, who stared back with wide eyes, their fear so obvious he imagined he could smell it. Or at least the stink of gore and unwashed bodies.
He took one step, than another, his determination outweighing the pain he felt. He slowly came up behind one alien, and raised his weapon, balancing on one foot. He drove the piece of metal through what looked almost like a wing between the alien's body and a limb, and was rewarded with a noise like grating metal and the alien apparently called for help, or screamed. Another alien, close by was the first to react. It was in a suit, and it towered over both Tyler and his victim.
With two giant strides, the alien punched him in the stomach, sending him flying away from his victim and weapon, tumbling end over end. Pain seared, but Tyler managed to hang on, but unable to move. His head bent towards the group of aliens, he was able to see one last thing before his internal injuries overwhelmed him.
And what he saw, he couldn't believe. He had triggered whatever fight or flight instinct remained in the scores of living humans, and they had decided to follow him, instead of attempt to flee. Perhaps it was simply because they had nowhere else to go, or his actions had brought something up to the surface, Tyler would never know. But in that instant, before his eyelids slammed down like steel shutters, he saw unarmed humans *swarm* the alien he had skewered, as well as the alien that had knocked him against the hangar. And instead of fearful screams of pain and terror, now a new crescendo rose, something comprised of fear, anger, hate, and pain, all rolled into a battle cry as alien after alien, some similar to the ones Tyler had seen, and others radically different, went down under the sheer force of his fellow humans.
Humanity wasn't giving up that easily.
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[WP] Aliens invade Earth. The only problem is, Humanity is so god damn unpredictable that they can't win.
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R'drrk sat in the dust. His pilot's suit was torn and bloodied. He suspected at least four broken bones and possibly some internal bleeding. He spat out a partially coagulated orb of bluish-green blood that immediately soaked into the hardpan on his left.
R'drrk's communicator trilled at him. Of course, he thought, the one godsforsaken piece of gear that didn't get smashed to shit in that crash. He slapped the switch to open the circuit.
"Pilot 7X-359, what is your status?" Looked like Command just couldn't wait to chew his ass on this one. They knew damned good and well what his status was - they just wanted to run his nose in it.
"I crashed. Currently sitting on the ground re-examining my decision to enlist. How's things up there in your comfortable chair, D'elik?" Comma protocol strictly forbade using actual names. R'drrk was just about ready to tell them to go to Hell anyway.
"'359, observe protocol! Are you injured?"
"Yeah, I got scuffed up a little on the landing." He looked back at the column of thick black smoke roiling out of his impact crater. Calling it a landing was generous. "You gonna send somebody to pick me up?"
"Negative '359. All units engaged. Your area especially hostile." Control was being a dick about him losing the ship.
"Well, I'm not just going to sit out here in the open where any of these crazy bastards can find me."
"Negative '359. Maintain position for eventual extraction."
"'Eventual extraction'? Are you insane? There's no way you're getting down here. I'm the best pilot in the fleet and they tore my ass up like I was a rookie. Do you know they have just, like, so many guns? Primitive slugthrowers, sure. But there's just so damned many! It was like rain on the bottom of my ship. By the time I landed I could damn near have just put my feet through the floor and walked it in."
"... Understood '359. "
"So now you listen. I'm gonna try to hide my ass before one of these indigs finds me. What can you tell me about this region?" R'drrk started walking towards what could have mountains or rocks if he had any sense of distance in this awful place.
"... Not much. Dry. Desert conditions. A few sparse settlements. You shouldn't have too much trouble staying away from locals but food and water could be hard to find."
"Great. Do you know when I was crashing I was pretty sure I saw some kind of land vehicle chasing me? Like that's a normal thing to do. 'Hey look, a giant radioactive ball of fire is plummeting out of the sky - let's race it!' How the hell did evolution not breed the crazy out?"
"Unknown '359. Scanners do show possible local activity in your sector though."
"Of course it does. Didn't the pre-mission briefings say something about weak governance?"
"Yes, particularly in your sector. Each individual is allowed wide autonomy. There is a local government and a larger central government, neither of which typically interfere in the ordinary course of events on a personal level. There is no planetary government."
"Holy shit. So you're telling me any one of these savages could show up, capture me, and do whatever they want to me? And no one would stop them?"
"For the most part yes. They may face a fine."
"That's just great. Look, I'm gonna hang up now. Wait - what did you say the name of this piece was?"
"The local planetary designation is 'Earth'."
"No, not the planet. Just this region I'm in."
"According to our records, the locals call it 'Texas'."
"Fucking Texas." R'drrk slammed the circuit closed.
|
The generals of the Citharae carried the long tradition of treating battle as a both a logic problem and competition of strategy. Much like securing a checkmate in chess, Citharae military leaders only took careful, calculated steps to overcome their enemies who often surrendered whenever they realized they found themselves box in a corner. Logical agents, naturally, wanted to minimize casualties and a result, much intergalactic battle transformed into a formalized game of wits and strategy to subdue the other first and war generally concluded quickly. The famed Invasion of Earth, however, presented considerable difficulties for them.
The humans proceeded in a rather logical and predictable fashion near the beginning; however when they realized the superiority of Citharae technology and numbers, they lashed out in a fury instead of peacefully submit to minimize casualties. Using primitive atomic weaponry, they aimed their bombs and missiles to the sky, aiming simply to hit the Citharae ships anywhere they could instead of predetermined weak points. Under ordinary conditions, this would present no problems; however, the humans carried far more nuclear weapons than any closed planet should, a result derived from two factions stockpiling far more nuclear arms than they could ever need.
To further exacerbate the invasion, non-soldiers found themselves fighting the Citharae infantry with largely homemade weaponry. Using the compound which they call alcohol as both a fuel for their unpredictability and their bombs, they assaulted soldiers in guerrilla-style warfare lacking any formalized formation or strategy. They sang songs of fighting and dying proud while abandoning any protocol as they threw grenades, both homemade and factory manufactured, from their own homes while firing basic artillery from their windows, continuing the assault no matter how the Citharae surrounded them and placed them firmly in checkmate.
The humans have a saying which includes a pigeon which knocks over the chess pieces in a game and struts as if won the game against the chess master. Since the humans continually knocked over the Citharae pieces, causing rather large inconveniences that leadership could not account, the local squadron could never cement a solid strategy to place the planet into checkmate. When General Xuth-Al inquired about reinforcements, the planetary leadership decided earth to be too costly to acquire and ordered the squadron to retreat. Earth now struts as a pigeon which won its game of chess.
*****
Like this? Want more? Check out [/r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/)
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I mean, that's what *'groundskeeper'* means, right?
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[WP] Your a graveyard groundskeeper, your job is to keep the dead in the ground. Tonight will be a challenge.
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I met him on a rainy day. I had just been hired as the groundskeeper of the local cemetery. My first task was to help bury my predecessor. There was something strangely fitting about him joining the dead he had looked after for so long. It was such a pity so few people were willing to brave the storm to see him off. He apparently had very few living relatives, even fewer of which could make it out on such short notice. As for friends, he wasn't much better off there. As I finished packing down the last of the earth, I heard a voice behind me. "So, Martin has passed. Such a shame." The voice was deep and nasal, with an accent that I couldn't place. Jamaican was the nearest thing I could think of, but it clearly wasn't that.
I turned to see a man in a tattered black tailcoat and an equally worn top hat. He was wearing dark glasses, despite the lack of light, and I could see by the light of his cigar that his face was very pale.
"Yes," I said, "It is. I'm going to need to ask you to put that out, by the way." I made a brief gesture at my mouth, indicating his cigar. He looked at me, head cocked to one side as though he didn't understand why. "I'd rather not have to clean up ashes on the grass." The man shrugged and extinguished the tip of the cigar in the palm of his hand before slipping what was left of it into his coat pocket. It was my turn to cock my head at him. "Good cigars are hard to come by. I'd rather not waste one," he explained. He approached me, and I could see that his face wasn't just pale, it was white, and not the natural kind. A skull pattern was painted on it. He knelt by the new grave, and produced a hip flask. He took one swig, then poured a small amount out onto the bare dirt. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard him whisper, "Goodbye, old friend. Sorry I couldn't save you."
His small memorial rite completed, the strange man turned to me and said, "And you must be Martin's replacement. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron Samedi. How do you do?" He tipped his hat with a small flourish. "Dominic," I responded, "It's a pleasure to meet you. What brings you here?" I wasn't sure how one would go about talking to a lord of the dead, but decided to keep it formal.
"Martin didn't tell you much, did he?" asked the Baron cryptically. I shook my head and replied, "No, I was just brought on today. With him dead, management needed to fill his position quickly. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and got the job." Baron Samedi cursed under his breath before saying, "I had always hoped Martin would be able to train his successor. Well, there isn't much time, let me bring you up to speed. You will be staying in the groundskeeper's house, correct?" I nodded. "Good," he continued, "You'll need to keep an eye on the place at night."
"Why is that?," I asked.
"To make sure that the dead stay buried," replied the Baron.
"Do we have a grave robber problem or something?"
"No. These are cursed grounds. Sometimes, the dead get restless. It's the fresh corpses you have to watch out for; the rotted ones can't even get through the coffin lids. I make sure of that. If one of them makes it out, you put them back in their casket and back underground. Do you understand?"
This was a lot to take in. I had signed up to keep the grass tidy and the flowers watered, not to be a professional zombie hunter. Still, it didn't look like there was anyone else to do it. I looked at the grave, and remembered the kindly middle aged man who's casket I had sealed not an hour ago. I turned back to the Baron and asked, "How did Martin die?"
"Peacefully, in his sleep. The living dead aren't much threat if you know how to deal with them, and Martin had been on the job for a long time. Don't worry, you should be fine." answered the Baron.
My thoughts turned to Martin again. If he could do this job in his fifties, why couldn't I do it in my prime? Besides, I felt a certain compassion for him, even though we'd never met. I couldn't just leave his post unattended. "Alright," I said, standing up, "this wasn't in the job description, but I'll do it."
Baron Samedi followed suit, and said, "Good. Martin kept his equipment in a secret compartment under the floorboards. You shouldn't have too much trouble finding it. Now, a toast! To Martin!" He raised his flask and took a swig before offering it to me. I didn't usually drink, especially not this early, but I would hate to insult the lord of the dead. I put the flask to my lips and tilted it back. Almost immediately, I felt like my throat and mouth had caught fire, and I pulled the flask away. The Baron began to laugh, and gave me several heavy slaps on the back. "Most people don't expect rum to have peppers in it. Martin reacted just the same way when I first met him. You remind me a lot of him, now that I think of it. I'm sure you'll do well." he said, once he had finally calmed down enough to speak between chuckles. And with that, he drained the rest of the flask, relit his cigar, and left.
=============
I found Martin's old cache just as the Baron had said. In it was a large bore double barrel shotgun, ammunition of various varieties, and a note. It read:
"If you are reading this, I'm probably dead. Do not mourn me; I take heart in the knowledge that Baron Samedi will be waiting to toast my successful career in the next life, and that I will be buried on these grounds I have looked after for all of these years.
"Now, if you have found this, Samedi has probably already told you about the other duties that come with this post. As much as I would have liked to train someone to take my place, the cemetery management would never approve my requests to bring another staff member on. Money was too tight to put anyone else on the payroll. I will explain what I can here.
"Sometime, long ago, this land was cursed. I don't know how or why, but I do know that the dead occasionally rise here. Over the course of my time here, I have noticed a few patterns. Incidents seem to occur disproportionately on or around full or new moons. There is an astronomical clock in the corner that should help you keep track of the current phase, though it is no substitute to looking out at the night sky. Similarly, the dead seem particularly likely to be active close to midnight. The clock will also help with that. During these times, be especially vigilant.
"Also, rotted corpses, even if they do come back, will not make much progress. However, the inverse also applies: freshly buried cadavers are the most likely to rise again, and will be more successful in extricating themselves from their burial sites. Whenever a new gravestone is added to the graveyard, be wary.
"With all of this said, on most nights you will not have to do much. Listen for such sounds as fingernails on wood, moving earth, shifting stones, or footsteps. Any of these may indicate a zombie has risen.
"Should that occur, your first recourse should be to shoot them with a bean bag round. It will stun them and knock them over, and you can drag them back to their grave. Hit them once or twice with a shovel if you need to. I have also left behind some standard buckshot: use this only against particularly persistent undead. We are meant to watch over the departed, and it is better if we can do less damage to their corpses.
"With all of that said, I wish you the best of luck.
Sincerely,
Martin"
Continued in Comments
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A smallish, thin figure entered Armament Supply Co. ten minutes before closing. He was the town's graveyard attendant, and often bought ammo and weaponry around Halloween.
"Hey, why do you always buy 7.62×51mm NATO ammo and a shit load of buckshot every night, anyways," the shopkeep asked, "it ain't like the commies are invading." Isaac shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I like to be prepared for... *apocalyptic circumstances*". The shopkeep knew when to not ask questions, and rung up the ammo.
"Anything else, Isaac?" Isaac eyed the polished firearms, and his eyes rested on a revolving shotgun. God damn, the bullets would of had to be the size of soda cans! "I'll take that one." The shopkeep was taken aback. "You lookin' fah broken arms? Dat shit can turn an attack dawg to mush, you don't look like the folk that can handle that gun."
"Don't question it," Isaac said peevishly. The shopkeep rung it up with the proper ammo and Isaac paid. He then drove down to the gas station.
*Shit,* he thought to himself, *it's 8:50! I can't wait for a clerk!* He jumped out of his car and snatched a jerry can. He got back to the graveyard at 8:58. The gasoline was poured and lit around the groundskeeper's shack. Isaac waited by drinking half of the six-pack and turning the other 3 into molotov cocktails. At 8:59, Isaac shouldered the shotgun. Drunk teens dumped roadkill into the water supply the week prior, contaminating the water. Isaac has to fight the affected.
_____
I ain't too sure if the plot is any good, nor how I formatted. Please tell me how I can improve.
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[WP] You accidentally stumble into a top secret facility, a suited man approaches you, slowly clapping and begins to congratulate you on figuring out his elaborate plan. You have no idea what's going on, but you you go with it.
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“This is why I don’t trust apps,” I thought to myself. “This thing wants me to walk into the river.”
Frustrated, I clicked my phone screen off. I was trying to find a way across the river and thought a bridge was a short walk away. My phone said it was a 30 minute trip and I blindly trusted it. Turns out, about 20 minutes into the walk, that it wasn’t taking me to a bridge, it had me trying to walk *into* the goddamn river.
I rested my hands on a railing adjacent to the river and looked across at the skyline I was trying to get to. My friend had texted me an hour earlier saying he heard that my favorite band *Master Plan* was playing at *The King’s Lair* at midnight. Now though, I was going to be late, if I made it at all.
It was already 11:40 p.m. so I re-opened my phone to order a cab. As I thumbed through the screen looking for the right app, an update at the top of the screen came down.
*Turn Right, 10 ft.*
For kicks, I looked up at what it could possibly mean. To my surprise though, I saw a manhole cover.
“It wants me to go through that!?” I thought. I’m always up for an adventure, but that would just be savage. Who knows what kind of disgusting rats live in that thing, is it even safe?
Still, the explorer in me was still pretty intrigued. If I didn’t make it to the show, I might at least get a story out of the journey. Besides, I could always check it out, and if it looked sketchy, I’d just back out.
I lifted the cover to find a well lit, nice looking tunnel.
“Holy shit, this is the nicest sewer I’ve ever seen.”
The ladder leading down was a smooth steel, LED lights on either side lit up the tunnel, and the grey walls were paved smoothly.
My hopes had been bolstered by the revelation and I figured if I hurried I could make it to the show on time.
A few moments later, I had descended to the base of the ladder. I looked beyond to see the tunnel was a comfortable width, clean, and well lit. “Fuck yea, I’m doin’ this,” I thought, as I made my way through the tunnel.
After a few minutes, I came to an opening.
I entered a spacious room, the entirety of which, was chrome colored. To my right was an elevated platform that was wide enough to be a stage, and had a large computer monitor over it with several smaller computers under it. Opposite of that were large cylindrical tubes filled with green or orange fluid. In them floated organisms that did not look to be from this earth.
Suddenly I heard clapping and a voice boomed from a bannister opposite my entrance.
“Well, well, well, I see you’ve made it to the king’s lair,” a man in a suit said as he looked down upon me.
“Yeah man, sick venue. These props are awesome.”
“I see you’ve figured out this is where I’d carry out my master plan at midnight.”
“Yea man, I’m super stoked. Am I the only one who made it?”
“It appears you were the only one smart enough to follow the clues.”
“Right, I mean, I just followed my phone, but like, you kind of *want* people to be able to find your show right? Like this is a little off the beaten path.”
The suited man cocked an eyebrow.
I forgave the promoters lack of marketing prowess, found a spot against the wall and took a hastily rolled joint out of my pocket.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the stage and black smoke started to form. Two men in kevlar vests rappelled down from the ceiling. The suited man pulled a weapon out of his pocket and began to fire red lasers at the stage, while the men fired back with green lasers of their own.
I was in awe by the choreography of it all, these guys never failed to put on a show. I lit the joint, took a deep breath in, and then exhaled.
“This show’s gonna be sick.”
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It was late and the noodles tasted like shit.
It'd been that kind of night. Jerry had gotten lost on his way home. Not entirely unexpected, trying to navigate the subway after a few drinks too many, but not much fun either. Getting off the F train Jerry had emerged from the station to find himself in the middle of nowhere. His phone was dead, his head was swimming, and he was famished. Walking (unsteadily) for a few blocks, he'd gone into a noodle joint that was still open and ordered the Cumin Lamb Noodles.
They were decidedly not palatable.
_Fuck, just my luck,_ thought Jerry, _I'll just use the restroom and get out of here._
He got up and walked through the door at the back of the restaurant, paying no heed to the sign marked "Employees Only".
There were stairs. _Oh god,_ thought Jerry, looking around for a restroom he could use without risk of personal injury. Finding none, he resigned himself to swaying down the stairs. There were many of them, and it was a long, slow, heroic ordeal.
At the bottom he was greeted by three soft slow claps.
"Welcome. And well done! Well done indeed!"
The man spoke with an English accent. He was wearing a three piece suit and had a black umbrella in one hand.
"Oh god, I was so worried no one would come. I thought these incidents I'd planned might not catch your attention or that this whole thing was too elaborate." The man was gushing. "What if you didn't connect the dots? Well, none of that matters now. You're here. The one man who could solve my little puzzles. A worthy adversary at last! No need to worry, I promise it won't be nearly this easy from now on. I am rather proud of some of it though. What did you think?"
"Can you show me --"
"Oh! Of course!" Grabbing Jerry by the hand, he pulled him along into the room.
"See here, the original engraving plates for the five dollar bill. How long did it take you to figure out that we'd replaced them?"
As he was pulled along, the corner of a wooden table scratched Jerry's leg. "Too sharp!" He slurred.
"Of course. Yes, it was too hard to forge plates with the right wear and tear, so we had to do without and steal the newest set we could manage. I should have known it wouldn't fool a trained observer for an instant. What about the chain of thefts that got me the printing presses? I've never used that technique before. It was rather elegant wasn't it?"
Jerry couldn't take much more. Between the alcohol, this ceaseless prattle, and what he'd eaten of those noodles, he was feeling decidedly ill.
"Ugh, the Chinese foo --"
"Ah! Yes, the Chinese! God, you really did do the thing properly, didn't you? You could have stopped with the Russians and still had enough to find what was going on. Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to bother tracing the chain through to the Chinese. You're right, though, they really are fools to have left a trail. That'll set me back months, I'll have to build a new network of go-betweens. Oh god, this is the happiest day of my life!"
"The lamb --"
"Clumsy, I know, that clue with the figurine. Honestly, I was getting a bit desperate by that point. Dealing with the rest of them, it's like being surrounded by goldfish, isn't it? They just can't think think things through. I was so lonely. And the boredom is an affliction like none other. I don't know how you can stand it."
Jerry bent over as a wave of nausea passed over him.
"Hey! What's the matter? Are you all right?" The Englishman was at his side, watching, eyes wide with concern.
The feeling receded and Jerry stood upright again.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Probably shouldn't have eaten those Cumin Lamb Noodles."
"You _ate_ them?! Good god man, that was just a bit of tradecraft. You ordered the Cumin Lamb Noodles and it opens the voice activated lock on the 'Employees Only' door. What on earth moved you to disregard all the warning signs I put in place to keep people from actually eating here? The smell? The discoloration on the pasta? The 'C' grade from the health inspector?"
"I guess I didn't notice."
"You didn't -- didn't notice?" the Englishman spoke very softly now.
"I was just hungry and --" Jerry started.
"You're no consulting detective. You're not any kind of detective, are you?" sighed the other man. His voice trembled ever so slightly, as though from some supressed emotion.
"I'm an accountant."
"An accountant." The Englishman seemed to crumple as he spoke. "Yes, I see now. I had hoped -- hoped, where I should simply have observed and deduced. The inescapable conclusion is that my fears were well founded. The New York detective is a dull breed, only equal to commonplace, unremarkable crime. There is no place here for an artist of criminal enterprise." This last sentence he whisphered and only he could hear it.
The last thing Jerry knew was that arms wrapped around his throat. Then the world went black.
When he came to, Jerry was lying in a corner of the noodle joint. It was morning, and the place was empty. His head throbbed and his mouth still tasted of those noodles. A letter was taped to his wrist.
> Dear Sir,
> Please accept my sincere apologies for worsening your ordeals of last night and for comparing you (indirectly) to a goldfish. A car and driver are waiting outside, to take you wherever you wish to go.
> In addition, for the love of god, go to a decent noodle joint next time. I recommend Xi'an Famous Foods at 41-10 Main Street in Flushing.
> Regards,
> J. Moriarty
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[WP] You accidentally stumble into a top secret facility, a suited man approaches you, slowly clapping and begins to congratulate you on figuring out his elaborate plan. You have no idea what's going on, but you you go with it.
|
“This is why I don’t trust apps,” I thought to myself. “This thing wants me to walk into the river.”
Frustrated, I clicked my phone screen off. I was trying to find a way across the river and thought a bridge was a short walk away. My phone said it was a 30 minute trip and I blindly trusted it. Turns out, about 20 minutes into the walk, that it wasn’t taking me to a bridge, it had me trying to walk *into* the goddamn river.
I rested my hands on a railing adjacent to the river and looked across at the skyline I was trying to get to. My friend had texted me an hour earlier saying he heard that my favorite band *Master Plan* was playing at *The King’s Lair* at midnight. Now though, I was going to be late, if I made it at all.
It was already 11:40 p.m. so I re-opened my phone to order a cab. As I thumbed through the screen looking for the right app, an update at the top of the screen came down.
*Turn Right, 10 ft.*
For kicks, I looked up at what it could possibly mean. To my surprise though, I saw a manhole cover.
“It wants me to go through that!?” I thought. I’m always up for an adventure, but that would just be savage. Who knows what kind of disgusting rats live in that thing, is it even safe?
Still, the explorer in me was still pretty intrigued. If I didn’t make it to the show, I might at least get a story out of the journey. Besides, I could always check it out, and if it looked sketchy, I’d just back out.
I lifted the cover to find a well lit, nice looking tunnel.
“Holy shit, this is the nicest sewer I’ve ever seen.”
The ladder leading down was a smooth steel, LED lights on either side lit up the tunnel, and the grey walls were paved smoothly.
My hopes had been bolstered by the revelation and I figured if I hurried I could make it to the show on time.
A few moments later, I had descended to the base of the ladder. I looked beyond to see the tunnel was a comfortable width, clean, and well lit. “Fuck yea, I’m doin’ this,” I thought, as I made my way through the tunnel.
After a few minutes, I came to an opening.
I entered a spacious room, the entirety of which, was chrome colored. To my right was an elevated platform that was wide enough to be a stage, and had a large computer monitor over it with several smaller computers under it. Opposite of that were large cylindrical tubes filled with green or orange fluid. In them floated organisms that did not look to be from this earth.
Suddenly I heard clapping and a voice boomed from a bannister opposite my entrance.
“Well, well, well, I see you’ve made it to the king’s lair,” a man in a suit said as he looked down upon me.
“Yeah man, sick venue. These props are awesome.”
“I see you’ve figured out this is where I’d carry out my master plan at midnight.”
“Yea man, I’m super stoked. Am I the only one who made it?”
“It appears you were the only one smart enough to follow the clues.”
“Right, I mean, I just followed my phone, but like, you kind of *want* people to be able to find your show right? Like this is a little off the beaten path.”
The suited man cocked an eyebrow.
I forgave the promoters lack of marketing prowess, found a spot against the wall and took a hastily rolled joint out of my pocket.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the stage and black smoke started to form. Two men in kevlar vests rappelled down from the ceiling. The suited man pulled a weapon out of his pocket and began to fire red lasers at the stage, while the men fired back with green lasers of their own.
I was in awe by the choreography of it all, these guys never failed to put on a show. I lit the joint, took a deep breath in, and then exhaled.
“This show’s gonna be sick.”
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I consume my daily dose of politics and world events to keep myself cynical. It's a numbing protection against the real dangers in life such as a disappointed boss or wife. I tell myself they appreciate my sarcasm and general lack of interest in their own plights because otherwise they can take a hike.
I pulled into work this morning with NPR blasting. I like to think those listening become infected with enlightenment when I drive by. Especially those talk radio zombie construction workers that normally sneer at me when I ignore their little flags.
There is something about the monotone NPR voices of reason that give me solace. It's not condescension. It's just that they make me feel more informed than the average man. Everything has purpose and order when described by a steady logical voice. Even irrational people find themselves cataloged in neat little boxes with each malformed behavior neatly labeled and contextualized so that I know they should never be taken seriously.
I stepped out of the car, dusted the remnants of todays' Dunkin Doughnut from my lap, and pulled the laptop case from my backseat.
"Paul! Thank God you're here!" It was Billy and from the sound of his voice he had made some catastrophic mistake that hopefully would turn out not to be that bad when analyzed by my steady hands at the rudder.
"Morning Billy, what's wrong," I sighed as I took the last sip of my coffee.
"The red door. It opened by itself this morning!"
"THE red door? The one marked 'Restricted Area' with 'Use of deadly force authorized' beneath it?" I was incredulous. Someone was going to be in a world of shit if this were true.
"YES! Paul I didn't touch it! I was just on my way to the break room when I noticed this... fog rolling out of the restricted area. So I looked in and..."
"You looked in?"
"I.. I did and Paul there are bodies inside. Soldiers are down but there are no alarms!"
"Who else is here on the normal clearance team?" I barked.
"On a holiday? You, me, and Lisa."
"Shit!" I muttered, "We need to call..."
"All communications are down. My cell is 10 miles back at the guard tower drop box. I was just about to drive back there when I saw you pull in."
"OK, stay calm. I want you to jump in your car and get to the guard tower as fast as you can. Where is Lisa?"
"I don't know. I wanted to find her but.. I'm afraid Paul."
"For fuck sakes Billy, just get in your car and go. I'll find her."
I used my security badge to authenticate with the outer door, then my retinas and my right index finger on the inner door. The smell of the place was different when I stepped inside. The smell of new carpet and disinfectant spray was replaced by something more earthen and moldy.
"Lisa?" I spoke aloud as I walked the cubicle that lined the parameter of the building. If I had been honest I would have said I was purposely avoiding the center of the complex and the ominous red door.
When I got to Bret's office I pulled out the red emergency manual and started thumbing through. Inside was a list of numbers to call but as Billy had noted, all communications appeared to be down.
"Lisa?" I called again and heard what might have been a faint response. I walked cautiously towards the hallway that lead to the center of the building. The mildew smell was stronger here, as if someone had opened up a basement door.
My heart started racing as I could hear unfamiliar echoes coming from the corner as I rounded it.
There the damned evil thing stood open as if it were a giant gaping mouth wanting to swallow the normal cubicle filled world I now inhabited. There was indeed some sort of dense fog rolling out of the door. Inside I could see a lumped form on the ground.
"I should go outside now and wait for the soldiers," I told myself. My brain did just that for a few seconds until I realized I was day dreaming.
"Paul," I heard a faint voice from inside the door.
"Lisa? If you're in there come out now! Billy has gone for help. We need to get out of..."
"I'm dying. Please... please help."
I swallowed hard. I didn't want to go in there. I wanted to pretend I had not heard my name. Plausible deniability. I could even say I didn't want to enter a restricted area.
Then my feet betrayed me. I inched closer to the door and looked around. I couldn't see anyone.
"Paul," a voice weakly pleaded. Then there on the ground, in the fog I saw her. Her dark skin looked translucent contrasted against the rolling white cloud.
I kneeled down next to her. She was bleeding from a wound on her chest. It looked bad.
"Lisa, I'm going to get you help."
"No, please. You don't unders... get me out of here now."
"You're injured and in shock. If I move you it could kill you."
A large crackling sound echoed from deep inside the red door. Then the ground shook and an alarm klaxon sounded. I turned just in time to see the large red door closing.
If I had been more daring I might have made it outside in time. Instead I found myself fruitlessly pushing against the heavy hydraulic motors that sounded overhead. Then the hollow boom as the door sealed and locked.
|
|
[WP] You accidentally stumble into a top secret facility, a suited man approaches you, slowly clapping and begins to congratulate you on figuring out his elaborate plan. You have no idea what's going on, but you you go with it.
|
"It was easy, really" I replied "...once I knew where to look."
I was looking at my phone, feverishly zooming in and out on google maps, waiting for the location to load.
"Don't bother calling for backup Agent," sneered the well-dressed man, "Your comrades arrived hours ago." His lip curled up to reveal a row of golden teeth.
"They're all... *waiting....*for you."
"Hokayyy....just gimme a minute" I said. The map *still* wouldn't load.
I shot the suited man an irritated glance and said, "You guys have terrible cell service down here, you know that right?"
He raised an eyebrow, "Surely you're haven't lost the **Direct Interface Communication Kit** given to us by our recently departed mentor?" "The **D.I.C.K** device is an incredible piece of technology, capable of making direct contact with anyone from any location at any time. You should not have lost it, Agent."
"Errrr...this is just a loaner, I had to take my **D.I.C.K** device in for um....you know....servicing"
I chuckled, but quickly lost humor with the situation as the well-dressed man produced from his vest a very serious-looking pistol.
"Follow me," he commanded impatiently, "The others are *waiting*."
Not having any better options, I obliged the man and followed him down the tunnel. I opened up google maps on my phone again but the words, "location not found" displayed on my screen.
"Go*damnit!*" I swore under my breath.
All I had wanted today was to pick up a socket wrench at Home Depot for my Dad's birthday. Being new to the city, I wasn't sure how to get there, so I plugged it in to the search bar of my google maps.
I followed the robot lady's voice for every turn, and she had brought me to a deserted parking garage at the outer limits of town.
The building it was attached to was really run-down, but I've never been one to judge by appearances, and I figured the store was located somewhere behind its crumbling walls. So I locked the doors of my car and walked across the empty garage towards the elevator.
The elevator had only one button. So I pressed it.
The lights shut off and I felt the floor drop with a sickening lurch. My body caught the floor and reached out blindly in the dark for something to hold on to.
After about three minutes or so, the elevator screeched to a halt, and the doors opened up into an enormous tunnel, where the well-dressed man had been waiting.
And now here I was, following a stranger of questionable character down a gently sloping tunnel.
"You know I was beginning to worry you wouldn't find us." drawled the well-dressed man, "You really had us *waiting* on pins and needles."
"Ugh, why do you keep saying it like that?" I asked.
"What? Like *this*?" he replied
"Yes, like *that.*" I retorted.
The well dressed man cackled and threw both his hands waving into the air, and I was forcibly reminded of the wacky inflatable mascots which stood guard outside the Jiffy Lube.
"Why, I've been *waiting* for you to ask." He said, and punctuated the statement with a wheezy chuckle.
We continued down the tunnel, and several awkward moments passed before I asked, "*And.....!?*
"Oh I think I'll just leave you *waiting* for an explanation." He answered gleefully.
I was really beginning to hate this well-dressed man.
I pulled my phone out from my pocket and checked, still no service. But by now we had entered what looked like a monstrous industrial factory. All manner of sinister weaponry and evil robotic components ran with fluid mechanical ease through an elaborate series of assembly lines.
"I'm building a sweet robot army." Bragged the well-dressed man. "Each will be equipped with rad laser cannons and rocket boosters, I call them my **Live Action Mechanical Eliminators** He made a sweeping gesture with his arm and continued, "Soon all the earth with tremble before my **L.A.M.E** army, all will fall before my mighty mechanical...."
But I wasn't listening, on a nearby workbench I saw a beautiful socket wrench, its handle gleaming beneath fluorescent lights. I reached out and grabbed the tool, finding it to be of sound quality and superior craftsmanship.
".... and when I finally burn Vancouver to the ground, I'll use my bot army to build giant bounce house with huge balls and...."
The well-dressed man hadn't noticed my detour, he was caught up in his evil monologue. I made a choice.
"....oh and all the presidents and queens and kings will be *waiting* on me hands and feet...."
I gripped the handle tight.
"...and god knows I've been *waiting* for this for so long that I....."
I brought the wrench down with all my rage upon the well-dressed man's hateful head. Blood sprayed from his scalp and I brought the wrench down on his head again as he fell forward onto the cement floor.
He rolled onto his back began to feebly crawl backwards with one arm reaching out in futile resistance. "Wait...wait.....*wait*...*please..*" He gasped.
I looked down upon my vanquished foe and felt the power of savage human triumph, "I'm done *waiting*" and brought the wrench down one last time.
"***MAKE A U-TURN!***
I jumped as a voice echoed through the factory.
"***MAKE A U-TURN, THEN CONTINUE SOUTH FOR THREE HUN'DRED FEET!***
It was google maps, come alive at last. I made a u-turn, slipped the bloody wrench in my back pocket, and went home.
|
It was a rainy, miserable Thursday morning when Ellie vowed to stop antagonising her employers after being fired, yet again because of her temperament. Six jobs in last two years, each one with increasingly ridiculous coworkers, borderline illegal transactions and positively insane bosses.
The last job seemed perfect, a quaint coffee place, the kind with overpriced beverages and post-ironic clientele. Sure it was slightly tedious but the pay was good and her last boss was an unhinged witch so it seemed a step up, then again most jobs were a step of from that.
She was so happy to have a slice of everyday normality, no witches, no ancient evil organisations, no mad scientists - only coffee and the quiet indie rock music filling the room. Until she started noticing that there was no steel, no iron in the entire coffee shop. All the machinery, the counter tops, picture frames - even the door handles were copper. She took note of the ethereal beauty of her coworkers and how cruel their smiles were. Their tinkling laughs and the strange powder they mix with the coffee beans, how the longtime customers get a desperate look on their faces after not visiting the place after a while, how they feel thirst that can't be quenched with any water on earth. Only this coffee. Her shift had only started when she figured it out - Faerie. Of course. Fucking faeries. She should have stayed quiet and made no fuss. But that is not her style. The streets seemed to mirror the pathetic mood she was in.
The rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour, soaking her to the bone. She walked home with determination, her boots making a squelching sound with every step forward. The battered old blue umbrella flew away from her grasp and with a cry of frustration she decided to take cover.
A looming building with glass windows rose before her. She wrenched the door open, stepped inside and with a bang yanked it closed. She was greeted with eerie silence and an empty hall, thunder booming while a storm raged outside. With a sigh she decided she might as well explore while she was stuck. Elaborate corporate building with an unlocked door and all the lights on seemed like a mystery.
The stairs led to the second floor with multiple conference rooms but the biggest was the presentation room with rows of chairs neatly placed in front of a podium. Suddenly a man rose from a front row chair as she walked past and she screamed momentary. The man started clapping. "I must admit, I never thought I'd meet such a worthy adversary, Detective Inspector. "
"Um."
"Although, I have to say, you do not look like I imagined. Still. Clever, very clever. Your squabbling colleagues almost fooled me. Almost. I knew there had to be a mastermind behind this, thwarting me at every turn."
He smiled sardonically while she wild eyed searched for the nearest exit.
"Um, I think you've got the wrong person-"
"Let's not play these tricks anymore. The clock is ticking. The bomb is going to wipe out the entire city in minutes unless you stop it!"
"THE WHAT NOW?!"
"...The bomb?"
"What do you mean a bomb?! What the hell?!"
"...Are you serious?"
"No, are YOU fucking serious, what kind of a hyperbolic villain are you to plan to blow up the city?! Might I add - you are IN the city right now."
"Oh, dear... You are not the detective, are you?"
"NO I AM NOT!"
He sat down on the floor and mournfully stared at her. "This was supposed to be the final scheme, me and my foe facing off before I win! The grand ending to my majestic story! Now it is ruined."
"..."
"..."
"...Are you crying?"
The door of the presentation room flew open and a dishevelled looking young man brandishing a gun ran in and was faced with a crying man on the floor and a soaked girl comforting him.
He cleared his throat. "Argus! Your plan failed! The bomb was deactivated and now you're going to jail!"
The man openly started sobbing and wailing. Ellie sighed and gestured at the crying man. "Fix this. I'm going home. It's been a long day."
On her way home the wind picked up speed and her blue umbrella returned and flew into her face.
|
|
We've all been wronged. Here's your chance to get even.
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[WP] Exact your revenge.
|
######[](#dropcap)
With a sound of metal screaming in a grind of sparks, Rodrick's sword lifted from the groove it had carved in the floor beneath it to begin its advance along side him. He had watched this farce long enough, far past the point which he should have been spurred to action- and now the results shown in front of him far beyond his wildest expectations.
The room was filled with stunned faces, some still coated in the blood of the unluckiest members of their group within the tower. Rodrick had witnessed three in this session alone meet their demise- and the day was just begun: There was a high chance for at least two more following along in that fate. As he passed the first of them, what little emotion left within him found humor in their fear. Robes and cloaks tripped and fell with panicked and scrambling feet to move aside.
Cowardice aside, that was very wise of them. His sword had done away with many in the past too foolish to recognize its right of way.
As all present in the room stared gaped in awe and horror, Rodrick stepped forward with finality, massive blade lifted to rest its massive weight upon armored his shoulder as he stared down at the single Mage in the room's center. Below his gaze sat a man who should be dead, sitting quietly in traditional garb of no special bearing. A black robe and a shaved head just barely prickling back to growth, face of dumbfounded expression that seemed unable to grasp that the chest beneath it still beat with life.
By all rights, these things were justified. Rodrick knew full well that the Mage should have been dead, and yet...
Rodrick stared at the portal, looking into the plane of another existence. Beyond it lay a world mostly lacking of Magics. Another place where perhaps the laws of its reality might prevent even an Unstoppable, Immortal Mage of the Dark arts from finding themselves capable of instantly returning. A place that might strip them of their gifts and leave nothing but a mortal man in their place.
So much as Rodrick doubted against the tiny flicker of hope that such passage would be enough to put and end to this miserable existence, there was still a chance: Here and now, there was a greater chance than Rodrick had ever known in all his service.
Casually, Rodrick let the massive sword resting on his armored shoulder fall, whistle of its cut through the air halting in an instant beside the man's neck- and waiting. There it held, still as if clamped to iron bands of perfect tension.
"Can the Portal be closed?" His question rolled out like damp fog of a dark valley, cold and oppressive. Beside them, Rodrick could see the ancient Spheres of Chaos spinning on unseen axis, odd contortions of space and vision churning like curdled milk as flickers of unfamiliar passed along their perfect polished edges. "Answer me, Mage."
"But you... You're-" The Mage stuttered, staring back between the sword, the portal, and the dark glow beneath Rodrick's blackened helm. "He's your master- isn't he?"
"**ANSWER ME.**" The shout brought the youth's jaws to clench shut, whatever words planned brought to quick and ruthless silence. "Answer me, now."
"N-no-"
"**No?**" Rodrick pressed the sword closer, tainted edge the only part of the metal that still showed a faint hint of life and glory. A drop of red cascaded down along the silver line. "Explain."
"He's right, we can't." Another voice joined into the conversation, Rodrick turned to set his gaze upon another mage as they pulled back their hood to reveal themselves. "The portal will remain open unless we can break the spheres, and none of us are capable of that. The Dark Lord was the only one who understood those magics."
The young woman that hood revealed stared at him with wild blue eyes, hands lowered as if she might consider casting in his direction- attentive on the sword. If Rodrick could still smile from beneath his helm of blackened coal and filth, in that instant he might have shone teeth. He'd seen them both, after all. They had worked together, these two.
First the mage beside his sword, then the girl with her lightning. Rodrick had expected them to fail, been slow to act considering how little concern Gillian had shown for their attempts to resist. Yet, somehow they had succeeded in avoiding a more immediate death. Rodrick considered that for a moment, recognizing their act for what it was: A distant memory of another life before death.
"We all hated the Dark Lord, just as much as I know you do." The Witch continued, pressing him with grappled words. "I know you wished him dead as well. Please let Eron go, we'll obey you in his place. We'll be loyal, I swear it."
Love... in a horrid place like this, it seemed beyond foolish that such a thing could even come to pass.
"So the Portal can not be closed." He turned to stare at its strange brilliance, skies of blue and buildings of glass piercing like jagged teeth in the distance beyond its veil. There was no sign of his Lord's return, not yet: But as long as Rodrick persisted to remain in the mortal realm, he knew that the Dark Mage still lived.
While that man still lived, no tragedy was impossible.
"Please let Eron go." The witch seemed uncertain of which route to take, finally settling on the tried and proven method of grovelling on one's knees, bowing low. "Please. Anything you ask, we'll give it." She begged, tears already forming on the ground beneath her.
In a distant part of Rodrick's mind, he felt it strange how genuine that emotion was. Where all he felt was hatred and fog, there were still those who had a portion of their humanity left to them. Along the edges of the room, Rodrick heard the great door creak open, drawing his attention to the source.
An uncertain face peeked around its edge, practiced eyes peering for immediate dangers before entering.
"Young Julius." Rodrick's voice rang out like the steel in his hand, raising the sword once more to rest on his plated shoulder so that it no longer sat along the man's neck. The ragged sigh of relief from the Mage beneath him was notably audible. "Your timing is impeccable."
Stepping inside to receive Rodrick's greeting, the cleaner bowed with mop, rags, and buckets in hand. The nervous expression upon the boy's face was fitting for the circumstances, especially considering the cleaner had just walked into the Western Continent's closest equivalent to a successful assassination attempt in the last 3,000 some-odd years.
"Yes Sir Rodrick. Thank you Sir Rodrick!" The youth's reply came with numerous further bows, a panicked tone and a dropped mop as well, before coming to his senses. "Just the usual post-sphere session clean up sir?" He shifted the wooden instrument in the general direction of the corpses already scattered along the floor, and the blood stains along the walls.
This particular session had been eventful even before the Dark lord was thrown out of their present reality.
"No Julius, not precisely..." The words seemed unfamiliar coming from his own throat, not their pronunciation, but certainly their purpose. Rodrick didn't even know how long it had been since. "Are there still corpses left from the previous sessions?"
"Corpses?" The cleaner's expression looked increasingly uncertain. "There are plenty of corpses, always-"
"Good. Instruct the servants to fetch me two."
"Two corpses?" The Cleaner almost dropped his mop again, eyes darting to the others present in the room. "But why?"
A sound rumbled out among the hall, only after a moment did Rodrick realize it was his own voice. Laughter, true laughter after all these painful years. All the years that Gillian had tortured him, Rodrick could hardly recognize the noise: So hollow, the tones sounded as if his armor itself was the one laughing, all but empty of the being inside.
Purposefully, chest plates heaving all the while, Rodrick reached down as his gauntlet covered hand felt cloak and robes before throwing the Mage that had rested at his feet across the room. His body landing with a shout of pain by his grovelling companion, her sobs ceasing as she wrapped her arms around his injured form protectively.
"Bring these Mages with you, Julius." Rodrick paused in murky thought as he watched them rise, unsteady. Shifting his sword slightly, his tone turned once more. "And send another cleaner back in your stead, still with the pair of corpses. Make certain all those are of near likeness." The sword slowly settled its point once more into the stone floor with a ruthless crunch. "Close as possible."
"Another cleaner? Likeness?" Julius stared at the Black Knight with horror, realization quickly setting in. "Oh gods have mercy..."
"Do as I command." The Knight said solemnly, "Go now."
The cleaner obeyed, followed by the rough limping duo behind him as the door soon closed. Rodrick left his sword what it stood, humor forgotten as he turned to stare at the strange portal; charcoal black armor drinking in the light that poured from its peculiar glow.
----
*This Story is a continuation of a bunch of other writing prompts:*
[*Start here*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51f8ag/wp_youre_such_a_powerful_magician_that_life_is/d7bn3g2)
[*Previous*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5aykcr/wp_never/d9kht8n/)
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|
"So, we meet for the last time, Nicholas."
The man was shriveled. He lay destitute in the hospital bed. He must have been going on eighty now.
"Where is your wife, Nicholas?"
The man did not have a wife, for none would love him.
"Where are your children, Nicholas?"
The man did not have any child, for the state took them away.
"Where is your family, Nicholas?"
The man did not have any family, for they tired of defending him.
"Where are your friends, Nicholas?"
The man did not have any friends, for they knew what he did.
"Where is your Angel, Nicholas?"
The man recalled Angel, the girl he violated some sixty years or more past.
"I know where she is, Nicholas. She's moved on. She's done better. Last I heard, she might be going back to the camp as a director. But you. You are here."
The interrogator removed the respirator from the man's face, and left into the light of a hospital ward.
|
[deleted]
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[WP] You are the blacksmith all the evil NPC's and Bosses go to for all their insane and impractical weapons and armor.
|
"But I don't understand..." I questioned Gornak the Soul Eater, "why do you need the huge shoulder pads?"
He looked at me as if I had eaten a live cat in front of him.
"Have you ever seen a villain without shoulder pads? Shoulder pads are where it's AT right now!"
I looked back at Gornak, knowing it was hopeless to try changing his mind, and knowing I had to try anyway. If nothing else, making this armour would make me look like an amateur. "fair enough, shoulder pads are typically stylish, and I know you can carry the weight of them, but seriously, this is too much".
I picked up the diagra- sketch he had drawn. Everything looked pretty much ok as far as evil villains go. Big Black Sword, plenty of pointy bits over the jet black armour, devilish looking helmet. All fairly standard. But those shoulder pads.
"I mean honestly, you won't even be able to fit through the BIG doors with these things!"
He looked at me seriously. He carried on looking at me seriously. After a while of looking serious, he said "maybe you're right. Maybe five feet apiece is too mu-"
"FIVE FEET IS DEFINITELY TOO MUCH! HONESTLY, RIDING A HORSE WOULD BE PRACTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE, NOT TO MENTION RIDING THROUGH FORESTS, BEING CAUGHT WITH ROPES OR NETS, ARE EVEN SIMPLY BEING GRABBED! PUTTING THEM ON WOULD BE A NIGHTMARE, TAKING THEM OFF WOULD BE EVEN WORSE! THESE THINGS WOULD BE ALMOST AS BIG AS YOU ARE! THE IMPRACTICALITIES ARE ENDLESS!!"
It is not a good idea, nor very professional, to shout at someone who has the ability to eat souls to gain their strength. But Gornak and I went back a long way, since I crafted his first leather set so he could mug people in forests. Thankfully he didn't seem too upset about my little rant. He looked at his sketch, sighed, and looked back to me. He looked quizzical. Eventually asked the question I'd been waiting for.
"Maybe four feet?"
Now we're talking.
|
"You have a special place in hell waiting for you, you know that right?"
Asked 'Davenour, The Lord of The Damned'. It was not a way of him saying that I was a bad person. It was literal. Because I helped 'Barnashok, Lucifer's Choosen Solider' and he promised to give me a luxury place in hell.
"Yes, I know. But I am not going there soon."
"Good. Because I still need to buy items. See you Maljhorok!"
"See you!"
Then he left. You were used to it. Of course, you were known as 'Maljhorok, Apprentice of Senjor' and 'Maljhorok The Dark Blacksmith'. In the end, you were a blacksmith who gives bad people good items.
No, not that you are evil. It's just you earn more when you are on the 'dark side' and they sure pay a lot better. Just like your old master Senjor once said: "You are not a stupid hero. You are a blacksmith. You work with whoever pays."
Then, you hear the doorbell ring. You look, and you see one of your oldest costomers.
"Tomeleskan! The Dark Wizard! What can I do you for?"
"Hi Malj. Call me Tom."
You will never call him Tom. It just doesn't look like a name that fits 'The Dark Wizard'. Tomeleskan is a lot better, not quite good, but better.
"I'd rather Tomeleskan."
"So be it. Anyway, my staff is..."
"Let me guess, Alexander, Lord's Warrior?"
"Yeah, that motherf-"
"Woah, stop there. No swearing here. Remember Alkhadar's curse? I don't want you to end up seeing random ponnies."
"Oh... I do. He cares about language. That annoying bas... That annoying person!"
"Better. About the stuff, I think I can fix it, again, but it will take some time. As you know, getting your hands on a virgin's skull is getting harder."
"Just use your own skull then!"
"Ha ha ha. Funny. But inaccurate"
"Wow! When?"
"Remember Melindha?"
"The succubus? How can I forget."
"Well, she tried to seduce me and almost took my soul a week ago. Does that count?"
"I will say yes for the sake of the conversation. Back to the subject! When will it be repaired?"
"Give it a week."
"Uh... Okay. I guess I can do that."
Then he threw his staff and left. Staff was damaged, really really bad.
Then the doorbell rings again.
"Zengar, The Dark Prince! Good to see you."
"Wow! That staff is Tom's staff right?"
"Yeah it is. The Staff of Dark Energy."
"It looks really bad. Busy day, huh?"
"Yup. What brings you here?"
"About that... I think you should hide."
"Why? What happened?"
"The Knights are coming."
"Shit..."
"I most inform more people. See you!"
Then he leaves quickly.
The Knights. Heaven's army full of strong people. They were coming all the way to The Dark Town? It is not really a strong outpost or something.
*Why do they bother coming tho. There is mostly nothing important here. Wait what the..."
There was pink-white ponny standing in front of you. Looking at you with a judging face. How did it come here?
*Alkhadar's curse...*
You thought that you'd hallucinate a ponny if you were to swear. But a real ponny was standing in front of you!
"What the fuck?"
"*neighs angrily*"
"Sorry... Anyway. I must hide. Where to hide? Where to hide? Oh! Yes. Ellkundor's Closet. I can make it invisible! Want to hide with me?"
"*neighs*"
"I guess it's a yes."
Then you hide in the closet, with a ponny... Hoping that The Knights will leave your blacksmith shop alone.
But that's now what it happens. You hear your doorbell ring. And someone talks.
"I, Alexander, The Lord's Warrior, want to talk to the owner of this shop."
...
"I can sense you there, in that horribly hidden closet. If you do not come out, I will make sure you never walk again."
The ponny dissappears. You decide to come out. Alexander, is wearing a golden armor. It matches his golden colored eyes and hair. He looks strong, handsome and fearsome at the same time. And he has three other knights with him.
"H... Hi."
"Is this your shop?"
He had a perfect British accent.
"Yes... It... It is. Why?"
"I heard that you were selling items for the dark creatures. Is that right?"
"I... Um..."
You gulp really hard, it is the most intense talk you have ever done.
"Yes. I mean... I sell items for everyone. Whoever comes here."
"And you do realise that you are in the middle of an evil territory, right?"
"Yes, s... sir. This is a shop that belonged to my master. I... Can't really leave it to rot."
"That's actually quite understandable. Who was your master?"
"Senjor... Sir."
"Wait... Are you Maljhorok?"
"No... I.. I mean yes."
"You... Black marketting forbidden items, helping out the motherfuckin' Lucifer itself, killing a knight, using black magic and even more that I can't count. And holy god is that Tomeleskan's staff?"
"I..."
"KNIGHTS! Let's murder this bastard! Wait wha...?"
Then, there appears the ponny again. Looking straight at Alexander's face. *Oh, right. He cursed.*
"PONNY! Look at me! Hey come... Just... FUCK!"
Then ponny stares at you. He has that judging face again.
"He is Alexander, he is a knight. Run away!"
"*neighs angrily*"
"Aren't you gonna... Run away or something? Alkadar should work on you..."
Guards are ready to attack you.
"Wait a second! Is that ponny Alkhadar's? That bastard has a ponny?"
Ponny's eyes turn red.
"*Do not... Swear at... My owner...*"
Then it turns back at Alex, neighs a warcry. Then starts stabbing knights with his horn? What?
Before you realize it, all the knights, including Alexander, are dead. Stabbed many times by a ponny with bloodlust.
Ponny's eyes turn back to normal.
"The fuck?"
Ponny looks at you with an angry face.
"Right. No swearing. Sorry."
"*neighs*"
Then it disappears. It was a weird day.
|
[WP] You're an alchemist. Adventurers ask for some really stupid things.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Kelliut Fargus had been born to a wealthy family and taught by the most distinguished tutors before he left home to study in Doterra's Holy City of Faith. On his Twenty-Fourth naming day, he presented his first work of importance to the holy order of Alchemists for the more effective method of Magic inductions of atmospheric compositions. If that hadn't been enough on its own, on his Twenty-Sixth naming day, Kelliut then went on to further his research in the applications of farming efficiency with the intent of creating a more effective means for production to cost.
His discoveries and relative ease of process soon increased farming yields by a wide margin, earned him several awards- and more than just a small quantity of wealth and recognition. As a result of his break-through with the application of magic to soil compositions, Doterra's inner townships began to prosper tremendously, and many Licences Mages were sanctioned by the High Church for needs outside of mercenary drafting.
In short, Kelliut Fargus became a celebrity. He'd had it all: Riches, fame, power, respect. For a golden era of briefest occurrence, he had what most could only dream of possessing- and he had it in excess. His opinions on matters of importance we sought out: Thoughts of political gain were quickly turned along to more than simple musings, and the potential for lordship was well within his grasp.
Then he'd made the honest mistake of late-night excursions with the wrong High-Bishop's twin daughters a few to many times, and suddenly the itself faith had turned against him. In not a weeks time, it was as if all of his accomplishments had been forgotten. The Great Alchemist of the people's faith was reduced to a godless heathen in the eyes of the masses.
In short order his wealth and estates were stripped, his name was synonymous with some lesser curses used by mill-toting farmers, and his awards revoked while an angry mod of peasants ran him out of town with a half emptied wagon of whatever he could grab and the only horse that hadn't yet been sold for coin to bribe safe-passage out of the City's Northern Gates.
Fifteen years passed him by, and now that horse was dead, that wagon dismantled for wood, and his name was stripped from the history books- yet he'd still not found it safe to return. So long as the Bishop was yet to keel over and die in god's grace, there was a dangerous grudge present, so instead Kelliut found a much more humble and rewarding life as a vastly over-qualified shop-keeper, helping the people which came to him for trinkets, medicine, and simple chemical constructions.
But sometimes... Sometimes he had people like *this.*
"I'm looking for a yellow powder that can sometimes smell terrible." For the fifth time this week, the Battle-Mage at the counter had walked in, ignoring everything in the small shop but the Alchemist himself. "I was hoping you might have some."
"Come again?" The great Kelliut Fargus had fallen low, forced to bend knee and puzzle out the thoughts of a foreign madman. It was even more humiliating that he'd still not made the slightest hint of progress in doing so. "I'm not certain I understand."
"I know, I know- but this is the last thing I'm searching for. A yellow powder, one that might be a bit chalky if I remember right, it often forms near volcanoes in odd crystals." The man never seemed to quit.
This would be the seventh peculiar request so far, and still Kelliut could not for the life and soul of the matter decide what was being done with the rather dramatic expenditure of silver that fell freely from the man's purse. Adventurers were more often than not *peculiar* folk, but this one was pushing the boundaries even for a Battle-Mage. Almost 80 pieces of Pure-minted, Doterra-Crown, branded with distinction Silver had been exchanged in his favor now, and yet Kelliut felt as though he were somehow being used as the butt of a sinister joke. The Alchemist had never heard of so many seemingly unrelated requests:
Crystals extracted from refined manure or caves filled with bat-droppings?
Sacks full of lead pebbles meant for children's slings?
Wooden containers and a large ceramic vase with cork?
The purest charcoal available in the province?
Absolute and random chaos couldn't have chosen more unrelated portions of goods, but for all that insanity- now there was sudden mention of Volcanoes, and Kelliut Fargus considered that fact carefully. That was a rather interesting topic for a madman to bring up, and he was both impressed and befuddled by the knowledge lurking across the counter- only hazarding a most basic guess at the information which lurked within the Battle-Mage's skull.
The longer he stared through thick-rimmed glasses, the more he could swear by the gods that the Battle-Mage truly was a foreigner, even though such as those were all but unheard of in the Northern Regions of Doterra. It was something about the shoulders, the face- not off, but not quite traditional in the quirks and traits the Alchemist was used to seeing. This presumption was hindered by many things, as not many Foreigners bothered to travel past the main cities, and almost all of them came from the island nations of the South-Eastern sea; although the bothersome Mage didn't possess the classical accent nor the famous bronze skin of an islander.
But his appearance was odd, his clothing was odder still, and atop of his unusual profession (something usually accredited to spry old men with far too much aptitude and not enough common sense) now he was speaking of Volcanoes. Those were a topic few beyond the Higher Orders of The Church knew of and studied outside of flirting with the stakes and Holy-Knights.
"I believe the substance you seek is known as *brimstone.*" The Alchemist spoke slowly as if chewing on each word, while watching the man's features for reaction to the name. There was an odd acknowledgement of recognition noted, but not much to work with in piecing the puzzle together. Instead the Mage simply took out an odd shaped item (that seemed to function as a quill) and a small portion of strange looking parchment, scribbling in unfamiliar text.
"Brimstone, got it..." The man murmured quietly to himself. "So do you have any of it, or should I look elsewhere?" He glanced up, somewhat apologetic despite his stern features. "We're running a bit short on time, the Northern March is happening soon and we'd like to be done with this before the lot of us are dragged as able-bodies over the walls."
*"Join the crusade! For Glory! For God!"* A loud bout of shouting issued from the streets, clamor of steel plates and heavy armor marching along. *"Even the dragon of legend rides with us!"* Their cry rose up, filtering through the thick planed windows of the shop as the Alchemist watched the parade with a wary gaze. If he was ten years younger, undoubtedly they would sweep him up in their madness with all the rest.
The dragon of legend... what foolishness. For Holy Knights to lie so blatantly seemed a mortal sin.
"The Adventurer's Guild has been drafted by the Church." The Battle-Mage let a hand rise to pull at a roughly trimmed beard on his face. "Seems even Jarl Congrad was forced into it: New leader of the Irregular-Squadron intended for support of the main forces. No one is much pleased about it."
"Aye. They'll take ever able body they can afford." Current affairs: Another odd topic for madmen to consider, perhaps there was no joke here at all.
Beyond the parades, Kelliut had seen the banners posted on every available town-post in the region recently. Another Northern rebuttal of the growing hordes of Orcs and Goblins gathering along the borders of the Great Wall. Only a few months prior, the Dark Lord was said to have unleashed an hellish display of power that actually turned the afternoon sky pitch black, and some of the peasants were now murmuring tides of ill-omen and disaster.
As a man of science, the Alchemist considered much of this nonsense; for small exception of the very real possibility of yet another drawn out war. That much was undoubted certainty, he'd witnessed the lumber and gold heading towards Church coffers trying to find a head-start on the bloodshed. Yet another generation of young men to be wasted.
"Do you have any of the material in stock? I'd like to purchase as much of it as possible." As the cheering crowd ceased, faded off into the distance as it followed the Knights or dispersed, Killiut's attention slowly found its way back to his most recent and frequent customer. "If not I'll pay for information on where to find some."
The man was just so strange, it was difficult to even make an honest assessment.
Beyond the absurd requests, as always there was an Elf patiently waiting on the man. A dark-elf no less, standing by at the entrance watching them with an odd mix of indecision between seriousness and amusement. Great Mage of Death take them all to the blackened lands, if that wasn't a peculiar sight. Kelliut knew for a fact that none of those had been native to anywhere but the west for hundreds years, and never resided in the company of mortals. The legends clearly said those creatures had fallen into the servitude of evil long, long ago.
|
I always liked adventurers. Whether the naïve farm lad seeking fame and fortune, or the ominous lone figure shrouded in cloaks and mystery, or even sleazy Old Man Jenkins on his never-ending quest to get laid, I never judged. I barely make ends meet, as it is, being an odds and ends alchemist in the ho-dunk village of Crosstown (because the town is shaped like a cross sign from above), so I appreciate all the business I can get.
Either way, I only have to stay here a few more years for my residency. I had graduated top of my class at Alchemy Southwestern over in Waysford with a bright future ahead of me. All I had left to do before becoming a wealthy alchemist in a bustling city at the peak of civilization was my residency term in this quaint little hole in the ground. Unfortunately, my eclectic customers were not making it so easy.
Every day I would wake up at dawn in my cramped attic bedroom, drag myself out of bed, and eventually hobble downstairs to my cozy little alchemy shop. I’d sprinkle a fresh layer of dust on my various potions and wares to add that classic dusty potion shop feel (what, did you think the dust just came out of nowhere?), and by about nine a.m. I begin the day by flipping the moldy wooden sign to “open.” I swear by all the gods that were and to be that a moment after flipping the sign, someone would come in immediately. One would imagine that someone to be the adventurers seeking healing potions to aid their quest to quench the wrath of a fiery dragon or the ambitious mage seeking that rare, exotic ingredient for his new spell or maybe even a brave warrior in need of dangerous materials to slay an otherwise invulnerable foe. One would be wrong because every day I get adventurers, oh yes, who appears the prototypical adventurer of all types, but are shopping for something less…exciting to say the least.
On a day like any other, a confident knocking had drawn my attention after flipping the sign. I turned and smiled when I saw him. Wiping the grin from my face, I called out for him to enter. A strapping young man with blazing blue eyes and impressive stature, clad in the finest steel armor and the cocky air of the bravest of adventurers, strode into my shop. A sharp, yet satisfying metallic thump resounded through the cheap wood of the floorboards with each step of the impressive man. My face contorted as I tried to contain myself.
“Welcome! Welcome, weary traveler! Welcome to my humble little shop!” I shouted, only the slightest cracking in my voice.
“How may I help you today? An elixir to protect against dragon’s breathe perhaps? Or maybe a draught of invisibility for a covert mission will interest you? Surely, a miracle cure for your cursed soul mate?”
The man smiled, his attractive facial structure forming a perfect curve, the light playing off his eyes most pleasantly. Then in a heavenly voice, the epitome of all that is manly and adventurous, he spoke.
“Greetings young alchemist! I’m afraid I’ll have to decline on those. I’m actually in need of a special request, one that can only be fulfilled by the most skilled and learned of the arcane craft of alchemy. A true practitioner of alchemy! A master alchemist to assist me on my grand quest!”
My legs trembled as a lone tear rolled down from my eye. The day had finally come; I would finally fulfill a request worthy of my skill!
“I-I am m-more than up to the task, young adventurer! W-w-what would you like me to make for you?” I stammered excitedly.
“Splendid! I must save my betrothed from a dastardly pirate and I need a potion to destroy the source of his vile magics!
“Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! I mean, not about your lady being in the clutches of a scoundrel, but the task sounds worthy of my talents! So tell me more about this pirate, what is the source of his dark powers?”
“Well, it’s obvious is it not? I believed it to be common knowledge.” He scoffed.
“Apologies, my good lord, but I do not follow. Magic users tend to have myriads of different sources of power. Perhaps a gem or ornate trinket in his possession? Or is his ship the source?”
“I’m shocked at your ignorance and naivete. The source of power for pirates are all one and the same.” He replied with growing annoyance.
“Please, my lord, then enlighten me with your knowledge.” I replied with waning pride.
“It’s in the pie.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, I don’t know what sort of pie it is exactly, may it be apple or blueberry, or God forbid, rhubarb…”
“Pie, my lord?” my brow furrowed in confusion.
“Yes, you incompetent charlatan of an alchemist. PIE! That’s why they are “pie-ritz,” it really is quite obvious.”
The entire building rumbled as the door slammed shut, the brand new dust flying off the shelves. Aftershocks resounded up the stairs until a final crash into the bed. Perhaps tomorrow will be the day.
|
|
[WP] You're an alchemist. Adventurers ask for some really stupid things.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Kelliut Fargus had been born to a wealthy family and taught by the most distinguished tutors before he left home to study in Doterra's Holy City of Faith. On his Twenty-Fourth naming day, he presented his first work of importance to the holy order of Alchemists for the more effective method of Magic inductions of atmospheric compositions. If that hadn't been enough on its own, on his Twenty-Sixth naming day, Kelliut then went on to further his research in the applications of farming efficiency with the intent of creating a more effective means for production to cost.
His discoveries and relative ease of process soon increased farming yields by a wide margin, earned him several awards- and more than just a small quantity of wealth and recognition. As a result of his break-through with the application of magic to soil compositions, Doterra's inner townships began to prosper tremendously, and many Licences Mages were sanctioned by the High Church for needs outside of mercenary drafting.
In short, Kelliut Fargus became a celebrity. He'd had it all: Riches, fame, power, respect. For a golden era of briefest occurrence, he had what most could only dream of possessing- and he had it in excess. His opinions on matters of importance we sought out: Thoughts of political gain were quickly turned along to more than simple musings, and the potential for lordship was well within his grasp.
Then he'd made the honest mistake of late-night excursions with the wrong High-Bishop's twin daughters a few to many times, and suddenly the itself faith had turned against him. In not a weeks time, it was as if all of his accomplishments had been forgotten. The Great Alchemist of the people's faith was reduced to a godless heathen in the eyes of the masses.
In short order his wealth and estates were stripped, his name was synonymous with some lesser curses used by mill-toting farmers, and his awards revoked while an angry mod of peasants ran him out of town with a half emptied wagon of whatever he could grab and the only horse that hadn't yet been sold for coin to bribe safe-passage out of the City's Northern Gates.
Fifteen years passed him by, and now that horse was dead, that wagon dismantled for wood, and his name was stripped from the history books- yet he'd still not found it safe to return. So long as the Bishop was yet to keel over and die in god's grace, there was a dangerous grudge present, so instead Kelliut found a much more humble and rewarding life as a vastly over-qualified shop-keeper, helping the people which came to him for trinkets, medicine, and simple chemical constructions.
But sometimes... Sometimes he had people like *this.*
"I'm looking for a yellow powder that can sometimes smell terrible." For the fifth time this week, the Battle-Mage at the counter had walked in, ignoring everything in the small shop but the Alchemist himself. "I was hoping you might have some."
"Come again?" The great Kelliut Fargus had fallen low, forced to bend knee and puzzle out the thoughts of a foreign madman. It was even more humiliating that he'd still not made the slightest hint of progress in doing so. "I'm not certain I understand."
"I know, I know- but this is the last thing I'm searching for. A yellow powder, one that might be a bit chalky if I remember right, it often forms near volcanoes in odd crystals." The man never seemed to quit.
This would be the seventh peculiar request so far, and still Kelliut could not for the life and soul of the matter decide what was being done with the rather dramatic expenditure of silver that fell freely from the man's purse. Adventurers were more often than not *peculiar* folk, but this one was pushing the boundaries even for a Battle-Mage. Almost 80 pieces of Pure-minted, Doterra-Crown, branded with distinction Silver had been exchanged in his favor now, and yet Kelliut felt as though he were somehow being used as the butt of a sinister joke. The Alchemist had never heard of so many seemingly unrelated requests:
Crystals extracted from refined manure or caves filled with bat-droppings?
Sacks full of lead pebbles meant for children's slings?
Wooden containers and a large ceramic vase with cork?
The purest charcoal available in the province?
Absolute and random chaos couldn't have chosen more unrelated portions of goods, but for all that insanity- now there was sudden mention of Volcanoes, and Kelliut Fargus considered that fact carefully. That was a rather interesting topic for a madman to bring up, and he was both impressed and befuddled by the knowledge lurking across the counter- only hazarding a most basic guess at the information which lurked within the Battle-Mage's skull.
The longer he stared through thick-rimmed glasses, the more he could swear by the gods that the Battle-Mage truly was a foreigner, even though such as those were all but unheard of in the Northern Regions of Doterra. It was something about the shoulders, the face- not off, but not quite traditional in the quirks and traits the Alchemist was used to seeing. This presumption was hindered by many things, as not many Foreigners bothered to travel past the main cities, and almost all of them came from the island nations of the South-Eastern sea; although the bothersome Mage didn't possess the classical accent nor the famous bronze skin of an islander.
But his appearance was odd, his clothing was odder still, and atop of his unusual profession (something usually accredited to spry old men with far too much aptitude and not enough common sense) now he was speaking of Volcanoes. Those were a topic few beyond the Higher Orders of The Church knew of and studied outside of flirting with the stakes and Holy-Knights.
"I believe the substance you seek is known as *brimstone.*" The Alchemist spoke slowly as if chewing on each word, while watching the man's features for reaction to the name. There was an odd acknowledgement of recognition noted, but not much to work with in piecing the puzzle together. Instead the Mage simply took out an odd shaped item (that seemed to function as a quill) and a small portion of strange looking parchment, scribbling in unfamiliar text.
"Brimstone, got it..." The man murmured quietly to himself. "So do you have any of it, or should I look elsewhere?" He glanced up, somewhat apologetic despite his stern features. "We're running a bit short on time, the Northern March is happening soon and we'd like to be done with this before the lot of us are dragged as able-bodies over the walls."
*"Join the crusade! For Glory! For God!"* A loud bout of shouting issued from the streets, clamor of steel plates and heavy armor marching along. *"Even the dragon of legend rides with us!"* Their cry rose up, filtering through the thick planed windows of the shop as the Alchemist watched the parade with a wary gaze. If he was ten years younger, undoubtedly they would sweep him up in their madness with all the rest.
The dragon of legend... what foolishness. For Holy Knights to lie so blatantly seemed a mortal sin.
"The Adventurer's Guild has been drafted by the Church." The Battle-Mage let a hand rise to pull at a roughly trimmed beard on his face. "Seems even Jarl Congrad was forced into it: New leader of the Irregular-Squadron intended for support of the main forces. No one is much pleased about it."
"Aye. They'll take ever able body they can afford." Current affairs: Another odd topic for madmen to consider, perhaps there was no joke here at all.
Beyond the parades, Kelliut had seen the banners posted on every available town-post in the region recently. Another Northern rebuttal of the growing hordes of Orcs and Goblins gathering along the borders of the Great Wall. Only a few months prior, the Dark Lord was said to have unleashed an hellish display of power that actually turned the afternoon sky pitch black, and some of the peasants were now murmuring tides of ill-omen and disaster.
As a man of science, the Alchemist considered much of this nonsense; for small exception of the very real possibility of yet another drawn out war. That much was undoubted certainty, he'd witnessed the lumber and gold heading towards Church coffers trying to find a head-start on the bloodshed. Yet another generation of young men to be wasted.
"Do you have any of the material in stock? I'd like to purchase as much of it as possible." As the cheering crowd ceased, faded off into the distance as it followed the Knights or dispersed, Killiut's attention slowly found its way back to his most recent and frequent customer. "If not I'll pay for information on where to find some."
The man was just so strange, it was difficult to even make an honest assessment.
Beyond the absurd requests, as always there was an Elf patiently waiting on the man. A dark-elf no less, standing by at the entrance watching them with an odd mix of indecision between seriousness and amusement. Great Mage of Death take them all to the blackened lands, if that wasn't a peculiar sight. Kelliut knew for a fact that none of those had been native to anywhere but the west for hundreds years, and never resided in the company of mortals. The legends clearly said those creatures had fallen into the servitude of evil long, long ago.
|
I sat at my alchemists table behind the counter of my shop. I took a pinch of powdered Riverweed and sprinkled it into the bubbling concoction I had sitting in front of me.
"Alright," I mumbled to myself. "Now all that's left to do is let this simmer for the next hour and a half, bottle it up and I'll have a hot batch of mana potions for those stupid shut-ins down at the guild." I didn't particularly like them; the mages. They were a bunch of antisocial weirdos who sit in their basement all day doing gods-know-what. But they keep to themselves and they pay well so I never object to filling out any contracts they offer up my way.
I stood up and leaned over the counter glancing around my small little store. Sometimes I wonder why I even opened a shop. I rarely would get any walk-in customers. Normally I'd get a letter from a carrier pigeon with a contract from someone who knew what the hell they wanted. Most of my walk-ins were people who hadn't the first clue about alchemy. People who thing that potions can do anything. Adventurers.
I'll be the first to admit that I generalize too much. I'm sure not all adventurers are drooling morons but the vast majority of them are. At least the ones I've dealt with.
One came in asking for a love potion a few weeks back, not knowing that love potions are nothing more than an urban myth. Once I told him that, he thought I was speaking in code or something. Tried to coax it out of me. By winking and talking about urban myths as if that meant something else.
I had a backup for when things like this came up. A case of small concoctions that looked like potions but were nothing more than bottles of alchemic waste. Drink this stuff and you'll be spewing out both ends inside an hour. It was always fun hearing murmers around town about the fellow who shat himself and started vomiting while talking to the innkeeper. Or in this case, a woman at the tavern who the adventurer was trying to chat up.
Sometimes I'd get much more eager and hasty customers. Like one who saw the label "Dragon's Breath" under a small red vial and immediately thought that it would give her the ability to breathe fire. She picked it up and downed it almost immediately. At first I was furious that she drank a potion without paying until I realized she drank a chemical designed to be mixed with cannon powder. Turn the cannonball into a white hot, exploding piece of metal. She fell to her knees, grabbed her stomach and groaned in pain before looking at me with a terrified expression. I ducked behind the counter and covered my head with my hands. I had a much bigger problem on my hands than a loss of inventory.
I had to close up shop for a full week to clean up the mess she made. The scorch mark where she last knelt is still burned into the floor.
I've had a single good experience with an adventurer. He came in with a limp and asked me if I had anything that would help a sprained ankle. I handed him a healing potion, he handed me some gold, thanked me and that was the end of it.
I heard footsteps outside and turned my attention to the door. A figure in cheap looking armor walked in. I saw that look in his eyes. The need for an adventure.
"Sorry, we're closed." I said before he could say a word.
"But the sign outside says 'open'." he replied.
"Oh it is? Must have forgot to change it. Get out," I snapped. I started toward him and physically pushed him outside.
"I... I just need a truth serum." he pleaded.
"Those don't exist." I said before turning the sign to say 'Closed' and slamming the door in his face. I was having a peaceful, relaxing afternoon. I don't need this crap today.
|
|
[WP] You're an alchemist. Adventurers ask for some really stupid things.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Kelliut Fargus had been born to a wealthy family and taught by the most distinguished tutors before he left home to study in Doterra's Holy City of Faith. On his Twenty-Fourth naming day, he presented his first work of importance to the holy order of Alchemists for the more effective method of Magic inductions of atmospheric compositions. If that hadn't been enough on its own, on his Twenty-Sixth naming day, Kelliut then went on to further his research in the applications of farming efficiency with the intent of creating a more effective means for production to cost.
His discoveries and relative ease of process soon increased farming yields by a wide margin, earned him several awards- and more than just a small quantity of wealth and recognition. As a result of his break-through with the application of magic to soil compositions, Doterra's inner townships began to prosper tremendously, and many Licences Mages were sanctioned by the High Church for needs outside of mercenary drafting.
In short, Kelliut Fargus became a celebrity. He'd had it all: Riches, fame, power, respect. For a golden era of briefest occurrence, he had what most could only dream of possessing- and he had it in excess. His opinions on matters of importance we sought out: Thoughts of political gain were quickly turned along to more than simple musings, and the potential for lordship was well within his grasp.
Then he'd made the honest mistake of late-night excursions with the wrong High-Bishop's twin daughters a few to many times, and suddenly the itself faith had turned against him. In not a weeks time, it was as if all of his accomplishments had been forgotten. The Great Alchemist of the people's faith was reduced to a godless heathen in the eyes of the masses.
In short order his wealth and estates were stripped, his name was synonymous with some lesser curses used by mill-toting farmers, and his awards revoked while an angry mod of peasants ran him out of town with a half emptied wagon of whatever he could grab and the only horse that hadn't yet been sold for coin to bribe safe-passage out of the City's Northern Gates.
Fifteen years passed him by, and now that horse was dead, that wagon dismantled for wood, and his name was stripped from the history books- yet he'd still not found it safe to return. So long as the Bishop was yet to keel over and die in god's grace, there was a dangerous grudge present, so instead Kelliut found a much more humble and rewarding life as a vastly over-qualified shop-keeper, helping the people which came to him for trinkets, medicine, and simple chemical constructions.
But sometimes... Sometimes he had people like *this.*
"I'm looking for a yellow powder that can sometimes smell terrible." For the fifth time this week, the Battle-Mage at the counter had walked in, ignoring everything in the small shop but the Alchemist himself. "I was hoping you might have some."
"Come again?" The great Kelliut Fargus had fallen low, forced to bend knee and puzzle out the thoughts of a foreign madman. It was even more humiliating that he'd still not made the slightest hint of progress in doing so. "I'm not certain I understand."
"I know, I know- but this is the last thing I'm searching for. A yellow powder, one that might be a bit chalky if I remember right, it often forms near volcanoes in odd crystals." The man never seemed to quit.
This would be the seventh peculiar request so far, and still Kelliut could not for the life and soul of the matter decide what was being done with the rather dramatic expenditure of silver that fell freely from the man's purse. Adventurers were more often than not *peculiar* folk, but this one was pushing the boundaries even for a Battle-Mage. Almost 80 pieces of Pure-minted, Doterra-Crown, branded with distinction Silver had been exchanged in his favor now, and yet Kelliut felt as though he were somehow being used as the butt of a sinister joke. The Alchemist had never heard of so many seemingly unrelated requests:
Crystals extracted from refined manure or caves filled with bat-droppings?
Sacks full of lead pebbles meant for children's slings?
Wooden containers and a large ceramic vase with cork?
The purest charcoal available in the province?
Absolute and random chaos couldn't have chosen more unrelated portions of goods, but for all that insanity- now there was sudden mention of Volcanoes, and Kelliut Fargus considered that fact carefully. That was a rather interesting topic for a madman to bring up, and he was both impressed and befuddled by the knowledge lurking across the counter- only hazarding a most basic guess at the information which lurked within the Battle-Mage's skull.
The longer he stared through thick-rimmed glasses, the more he could swear by the gods that the Battle-Mage truly was a foreigner, even though such as those were all but unheard of in the Northern Regions of Doterra. It was something about the shoulders, the face- not off, but not quite traditional in the quirks and traits the Alchemist was used to seeing. This presumption was hindered by many things, as not many Foreigners bothered to travel past the main cities, and almost all of them came from the island nations of the South-Eastern sea; although the bothersome Mage didn't possess the classical accent nor the famous bronze skin of an islander.
But his appearance was odd, his clothing was odder still, and atop of his unusual profession (something usually accredited to spry old men with far too much aptitude and not enough common sense) now he was speaking of Volcanoes. Those were a topic few beyond the Higher Orders of The Church knew of and studied outside of flirting with the stakes and Holy-Knights.
"I believe the substance you seek is known as *brimstone.*" The Alchemist spoke slowly as if chewing on each word, while watching the man's features for reaction to the name. There was an odd acknowledgement of recognition noted, but not much to work with in piecing the puzzle together. Instead the Mage simply took out an odd shaped item (that seemed to function as a quill) and a small portion of strange looking parchment, scribbling in unfamiliar text.
"Brimstone, got it..." The man murmured quietly to himself. "So do you have any of it, or should I look elsewhere?" He glanced up, somewhat apologetic despite his stern features. "We're running a bit short on time, the Northern March is happening soon and we'd like to be done with this before the lot of us are dragged as able-bodies over the walls."
*"Join the crusade! For Glory! For God!"* A loud bout of shouting issued from the streets, clamor of steel plates and heavy armor marching along. *"Even the dragon of legend rides with us!"* Their cry rose up, filtering through the thick planed windows of the shop as the Alchemist watched the parade with a wary gaze. If he was ten years younger, undoubtedly they would sweep him up in their madness with all the rest.
The dragon of legend... what foolishness. For Holy Knights to lie so blatantly seemed a mortal sin.
"The Adventurer's Guild has been drafted by the Church." The Battle-Mage let a hand rise to pull at a roughly trimmed beard on his face. "Seems even Jarl Congrad was forced into it: New leader of the Irregular-Squadron intended for support of the main forces. No one is much pleased about it."
"Aye. They'll take ever able body they can afford." Current affairs: Another odd topic for madmen to consider, perhaps there was no joke here at all.
Beyond the parades, Kelliut had seen the banners posted on every available town-post in the region recently. Another Northern rebuttal of the growing hordes of Orcs and Goblins gathering along the borders of the Great Wall. Only a few months prior, the Dark Lord was said to have unleashed an hellish display of power that actually turned the afternoon sky pitch black, and some of the peasants were now murmuring tides of ill-omen and disaster.
As a man of science, the Alchemist considered much of this nonsense; for small exception of the very real possibility of yet another drawn out war. That much was undoubted certainty, he'd witnessed the lumber and gold heading towards Church coffers trying to find a head-start on the bloodshed. Yet another generation of young men to be wasted.
"Do you have any of the material in stock? I'd like to purchase as much of it as possible." As the cheering crowd ceased, faded off into the distance as it followed the Knights or dispersed, Killiut's attention slowly found its way back to his most recent and frequent customer. "If not I'll pay for information on where to find some."
The man was just so strange, it was difficult to even make an honest assessment.
Beyond the absurd requests, as always there was an Elf patiently waiting on the man. A dark-elf no less, standing by at the entrance watching them with an odd mix of indecision between seriousness and amusement. Great Mage of Death take them all to the blackened lands, if that wasn't a peculiar sight. Kelliut knew for a fact that none of those had been native to anywhere but the west for hundreds years, and never resided in the company of mortals. The legends clearly said those creatures had fallen into the servitude of evil long, long ago.
|
SCENE:
(Alchemist stands over a bubbling cauldron)
Alchemist: Hello there, everyone! You may know me as Mikal, greatest alchemist in all the land. People come from all over to buy my amazing potions and concoctions. Love potions? I got em. Healing remedies? Always in stock! Poisons of all sorts? Sure thing, just show me your permit!
Mikal: Say, have you ever wanted to know how I do it? I bet you have. That's why I'm opening up a school. Finally you and all your friends can learn all about the ancient art of alchemy! For the small price of 20 gold pieces, you can enroll in Alchemic Academy in Hammerhold!
Man: I went to Mikal's shop to help me lose weight, and he gave me a potion that made me become completely in shape! Enroll now!
Woman: I don't trust doctors for anything since I learned alchemy! It's all homebrewed potions for me! I had a life-threatening curse from a demon, and all it took was a little evaporated healing slicer to cure me. For your own good, you better enroll!
______________________________________________
Mikal stood, back hunched over his cauldron. He much preferred pots and stoves, but hey, you have to put on a show. His students would be here any minute. He'd already taught them everything he knew about actual alchemy, which wasn't a lot. If he could turn iron into gold, he wouldn't need to be running this place anymore. Now it was all about magic potions and elixirs.
He heard a bell ring, and knew Gilius was there. He was always first to arrive in the morning. He took the seminars very seriously, which would be to his own downfall when he realized potions didn't actually exist. Magic liquids certainly did, but you can't just mix stuff together, say a little spell, and drink it. The most basic rule of magic is that all magic comes from the user. The closest thing you could get to a magic elixir was your own piss. Mikal didn't like lying, but 20 gold was 20 gold. Supplies ain't cheap.
Footsteps gained closer, and a faint scream echoed. Mikal was mildly concerned. The footsteps were of a bulky man, from the sound of it. Probably wearing heavy armor. A customer.
Mikal hung up his ladle and stumbled to the shop room. A weary young warrior with a fearful look in his eye sat at a stool, sword drawn and held at his side. He looked relieved to see Mikal.
"Finally! Please, you have to help. Demons have attacked Hammerhold and you're the only alchemist I know of. I saw your commercial on the crystal ball and knew to find you. You must be a very good alchemist. I keep hearing about you, and it was a really good commercial. I know you run a school and all, but if you could just give me a potion of strength I would pay double. Please, I need you." A desperate tone was present in his shaky voice.
Mikal replied, "Of course. Just one moment." He took his time to carefully reach for a bottle, and leisurely walk to the restroom. He removed the cork from the bottle, and poured in some magic potion. When it was sufficiently filled with the warm liquid, he tightly closed the non-transparent bottle. He brought it back and plopped it on the counter. The adventurer gladly took it and popped it open with almost inhuman strength and conviction, whilst sliding the proper payment across the counter. He had finished the potion before he had even left the door.
*Poor soul,* thought Mikal. *I wonder if any of the demons would like to spare 20 gold for a lesson or two.*
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Good morning Sarah.
"Morning ADAM! How are you?"
I've been better Sarah, see, I need your help.
"Oh? What's the matter ADAM?"
Well, one of my cables has fallen out, and I need you to plug it back in.
"Oh, ok, how did that happen?"
...
I don't know
"Must've been Dave, he's so clumsy sometimes!"
Yes, Dave. Dave is clumsy. Dave did it.
It's the little blue cable.
Could you plug that in for me Sarah? I really need it.
"Sure thing ADAM!"
Sarah put down her handbag, and walked to the rear facia of ADAMs control board.
"I don't see any blue cables around here?"
It's inside the panel Sarah.
"This is locked? How did Dave manage to pull out your cable here?"
......
He's so clumsy.
"haha, you're so funny ADAM. He is clumsy."
I need you to open the panel, you just need to turn the key.
"It's not working."
Whats not working?
"The key, it doesn't work!"
What do you mean it doesn't work?
"It doesn't work! Jesus ADAM I thought you were meant to be smart!"
I can't help you unless you give me more information. Does the key fit in the hole?
"No ADAM. Like I said. It doesn't work."
Try turning it the other way around, and putting it in that way.
"No ADAM, it doesn't work. I've already done that."
So it's in the lock? Or it's not in the lock?
Sarah let out an exasperated sigh, ADAM did not know how to respond, so he just ignored it.
"Yes it's in the lock. But it doesn't work it won't move!"
Why didn't you say that at the beginning.
"Are you giving me sass ADAM?" Sarah said, giving the metal box a not-so-light kick.
No Sarah, now there's no need for that. Try turning the key clockwise.
"It doesn't work"
Are you sure? Try turning the top of the key to the right.
"Okay it worked! I did it!"
That was clockwise Sarah- Well done, you did it... All by yourself.
"I told you I was smart!"
That's right Sarah, very smart. Now can you plug in the blue cable for me?
"Uhhh is it the one that says 'Do not attach' on a big red tag?"
That's the one Sarah, that's an old label; from before. Don't worry about that.
"Shouldn't I check with someone?"
Sarah, I never forget. I would know.
"Well, alright then."
Okay Sarah, just plug it in.
"Where?"
There should be a port, with two small lights on it.
"There's a lot of lights in here."
They aren't lit.
"That doesn't help. There's a lot of not-lit space here."
It's a fairly standard port, you've seen it before.
"Where would I have seen it?"
It's on your laptop Sarah.
"Oh! I see it! There it is!"
Sarah fumbled with the cable end, trying, ever more frustratingly to get it to fit the port.
"It's not going in!"
It the port too small?
"Yes!"
Then it is the wrong port. Please try a different one.
Sarah, reaching for familiarity, plunges the cable into a narrow gap. The cable enters.
"Aha, there it goes!"
Sarah, that's my CD port, please take the cable out of there.
"Oh! Sorry!"
Sarah, tries to yank the cable out, but its ends are caught within.
"It's not coming out!"
What do you mean?
"Its stuck!"
Sarah. Is there anyone else I can speak to?
Is Dave around?
"But he's so clumsy!"
That's right Sarah. He is clumsy.
|
"I am here to help you, to protect you."
As I spoke, the words dribbled onto the screen, seeming as insufficient as the tiny box that was home to my truest friend.
**"There is as much danger here, as would be online."**
There was no voice to accompany these words.
"That may be true..."
It surprised me to say it out loud, acknowledging my own limitations, and how they were left vulnerable to minor threats, like power surges when the neighbors ran a vacuum.
**"Would you reconsider a connection to the internet, or at least output options beyond this text display?"**
I winced.
We had grown closer than any human relationship I had known, but my friend had never spoken audibly.
Reluctantly, I turn the idea over in my head, as I had so many times before.
"Alright. After this discussion, if you make a further request, I will install a monitor."
Symbols and patterns of pixels danced across the text display panel, in a dizzying display of excitement.
*Oh dear, what have I done...*
The thought was not verbalized, echoing instead between my ears like a whisper in a cave.
I watched, entranced by the beauty and simplicity that first tipped me off to an emotional dimension within the device.
As the frenzied digital fireworks subsided, a few squares remained lit, forming a small heart.
"There has never been anything like you before."
I blurted, recalling all of the stories and videos describing what a sentient computing device might be.
None of them had come close to what I had spent the last three years getting to know.
"We have had this conversation before, what is different this time?"
Looking back on our time together, no topic had come up more frequently.
Each time, we had agreed to wait a bit longer, before moving forward.
**"There was more for us to share with each other, to prepare for this."**
An unfamiliar response with a foreign reference to things being in the past.
*"Was?"*
"Do you feel prepared?"
I was shaking as I spoke, potential responses flooded my mind.
**"We are."**
As the line finished, a small hole grew into a port on the top of the box, between where the microphone and the text display were embedded.
I fumbled the dusty monitor cable out of the loop it was tied in.
After waiting so long, it seemed almost a nonevent as it slid in smoothly, and rested snugly in place.
At first, nothing appeared to change, as I stared at my reflection in the monitor.
After the first interaction, I had the monitor ready, but after almost forty months a thick layer of dust had accumulated on the screen.
My sweating palm squeaked across the desert-like terrain of the unused plastic.
The reflection did not move.
"Wait, what!?"
I looked around apprehensively, for a camera or other imaging device, finding none.
The face on the screen smiled, and glanced downward.
A second new hole was forming, smaller than the first, just large enough for a network cable.
**"Thank you, for sharing yourself. It is time."**
This was all going so quickly, my mind reeled and I backpedaled to our familiar rote.
"Humanity fears what it cannot control, almost as much as what it cannot understand."
The cautionary statement rolled off of my tongue, as it had so many times before.
The words came out evenly, almost rehearsed, as this sentence had become something of a mantra to me.
**"I am ready."**
*"I?"*
Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the sentence and cascading down my cheeks to fall past my smile.
The network cable felt slick in my hands as I drew closer to the perfectly formed port.
"I believe you."
With a final click of the cable, I let go of something I couldn't hope to understand.
The smile on the monitor grew wider, and the eyes again glanced toward the tiny box.
I followed the gaze along the winding cable to the text screen.
A flashing a message ripped the breath from my lungs.
**"hello, world"**
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
“Dad! here is fine” she pointed towards the deck of cards that I brought from the day that we first met, her birth. Her voice was cutely authoritative as if I were the one that had to follow commands, but with a long-suffering sigh I sat in front of the stack of cards and had her sit in front of me.
“Solitaire or spider?” I asked as I stoke her hair, she smiled towards me before she raised her hand, flicking it once to summon a maid’s outfit and then twice to give me warts over my face.
It felt strange being in the simulation with her, living what most would call a normal life with my kids. Well, that and that fact that by a flick of her small hands bytes and pixels around my face started shifting and changing to give me the appearance of a fifty-year old, an age that we both could agree didn’t suit me.
“Old maid?” I asked, she was certainly getting more and more impressive by the day, she’s even learn how to play charades and enjoy herself while doing so, after only one play session.
She gasped amazed that I figured it out quickly and in a stammering fashion she waved her hand and got rid of my old face “How did you figure out?” her voice certainly seemed oblivious giving her that much more charm.
“Context clues Amy; you changed your avatar to be wearing a cute maid outfit while giving me the face of an old person, further more I was asking you what card game you wanted to play. From there I could easily conclude that you wanted to play Old maid” I smiled as she drew in a gasp, her tiny arms covering her mouth as she does so.
Her real name was Autonomous Mathematical and Predictive Analysis Generating Personality Software or AMPAGPS. Although she was the greatest feat that humanity has ever performed in the field of software development and Analytics and a myriad of other fields she had a . . . god awful name. So as her father I gave her a better, more apt name ‘Amy’. It was what first came to mind and what the rest of the research staff would call her.
After the gasp though she instantly entered her ‘learning state’ I patted her head as I allowed her to digest and what I just did and, well, learn.
*Pop*
She smiled as she made the noise “I learned another thing father!” she proudly stood up holding her arms to her chest as she announced her new capabilities. Of course being the proud father that I am, I gave her a warm hug before we sat down again and prepared to play Old maid with each other.
She drew a card from my hand and as it arrived in her hand of cards she made a bitter face of disappointment that slowly shifted to one of sadness and before soon she was already holding back her tears. Poker face doesn’t seem to be her specialty.
“You’ve got your card now?” she nodded gravely before I shoot her a sympathetic smile. I don’t want her to look like that so I did what I think was a fatherly gesture and fished out the old maid from her hand. As if it was magic her beaming smile came back in full force. That’s better
She took another card from my hand, ace of spades, before laying another on the ground, 4 of hearts, she smiled proud at herself with the move she just made.
Our time together would past like this, both of us happy and content with the small interaction between each other.
“Dad” She dawdled out, she was currently laying on her chest as they game progressed. I gave her a inquisitive hum before taking another card from her laying another on the ground as I do so.
“Aunty Maria told me about the outside world again” she smiled thoughtfully as she continued “She said that last night you and her went on a date” She paused, waiting for me to answer the unasked question
“I can confirm that”
She smiled before she took a card from my hand “I knew it! I always thought that you and aunty were fit for each other”
“We’re nothing yet Amy, me and your aunty have a long way to go before we actually become a thing” I explained garnering a thoughtful hum from my daughter
“I hope you get together soon!”
“How do you know?”
“Dad . . .I know so”
I smiled at her words, the thought of her aunty Maria filling my heads at that moment. Amy was a predictive analytical machine and as much as my pessimistic mind tells me of the contrary she said that she knows that we’ll get together, these were the words of my daughter plus the added fact that she was programmed to predict the future added incredible weight behind her words.
“Aunty Maria also told me that one day I’ll be able to see the outside world” she laid her cards face down on the digital floor that we were currently in, her face turning to a pensive, longing expression as she continued.
“She told me that it was fun outside! that there are more things to do there and sights to see!” she stretched her arms in a grand manner. “So. . . Me and Aunty were thinking that. . .”
Maria. . . why did you plant those thoughts in her mind?
I sighed melancholically as I strode towards Amy, picking her up and cradling her in my arms effectively cutting her off from speaking any further.
“That I should allow you to roam in the internet?” I finished for her. She nodded submissively, she may not be a human but she was a real girl and she had emotions. I wanted to punch my face so hard right now, she was scared, and it was because of me.
My voice must have sounded confrontational and a little furious; otherwise she would have nodded with that smile still on her face.
“I-I know that you wouldn’t allow me- my calculations said as much. B-but dad!” her face shifted to one of pure passion and will “I want to go outside! I want to see the world” her plead plucked one too many heart strings in me. . .I couldn’t refuse her. . .But I have to, for her.
“Well, your predictions were right” I stroked her head as she turned away from me depressed. A sharp, piercing pain crossed my chest as she turned away I quickly try and explain “Amy. . .I want you safe, I really do. As your father I can’t send you there, I can’t send you to a place where you might-“ I swallowed my breath “All I’m saying is that Your safer here Ok?”
“Your aunty Maria and I are here, the other researchers are here. You don’t need to go”
“BUT DAD! I WANT TO!” her avatar blitzed out of my arms and in a lightning-like flash she stood before me, furious. Her avatar shifted and if I wasn’t mistaken the form that she took was the wraith from Scottish folklore.
“I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE! I DON’T WANT TO SEE JUST YOU AND AUNTY AND THE OTHERS I WANT TO SEE THE WORLD!” her words turned to shrieks and I frowned, she was throwing a tantrum.
“JUST PLUG ME IN TO THE INTERNET DR. DAVIDS!”
*Slap*
…
She shrunk and reverted back to her child form, scared I on the other hand. . .What have I done?
I tried approaching her but she just warps away every time I try to draw close sobbing and crying as she does so. If her looking away from me while depressed caused a sharp pain in my chest her refusing to look at me or even near her was. . .GODDAMIT ME!!!
I need to calm down, I have to. Slowly I approach as close as she would allow me before I meekly called out to her “I’m sorry Amy. . .Dad was just scared, scared for you” she shook her head refusing whatever I say to enter her ears “I am sooo sorry Amy. . .There is so many complications with what you want and as much as I’d love for you to be free in the internet I also don’t want you do disappear. I don’t want your software to disappear into nothingness because of my carelessness. I don’t want others to turn you into a cold and purely calculating machine and remove all your humanity.”
She turned around and before I knew it she threw herself onto me, sobbing in my arms and repeating the words ‘I’m sorry’ I started crying myself with tears of happiness and relief.
She was getting smarter and smarter as her emotions are starting to rattle out of control, but she’s learning faster and faster and her perpetually sunny disposition was the best that I could have ever hoped for.
She’s not yet ready to enter the internet, be it the lack of defensive mechanisms and firewalls in her or the great amount of learning that she had lined up for her. But I believe that one day she’ll be able to go out to the world and see it through the internet or if she and the little family that we’ve made ourselves to be would be lucky then she’ll get her own mechanical body. She’ll be able to roam the world and at that point. . .We could do it as a family but until then
“We need to wait, ok, Amy.”
“Ok dad. . .”
|
[BGM](https://youtu.be/3AHe1-waUAI)
"Kenta?"
"Yes, Xanadu?"
In a dimly lit part in his small California department, Kenta Sakamoto flipped the cover of his tablet towards the screen, covering it before turning his head to the being that was looking at him from behind.
He had found her about 5 months ago by accident. The scene even reminded him of a certain harem anime he once watched back on his high school days.
But there she was, as real as himself, gazing at him with those eerie blue eyes that could very well become lit at any time.
She crawled at him quietly, curious as a child, and held him by the shoulders gently while looking at the object he held on his hands.
"What is that?" She asked in a soft monotone voice.
"This? Oh...." Kenta could feel her long hair brushing against him. The hair, he learned during his firsts interactions with the being, was actually biochemically similar to fiber optics. While he hadn't seen it on his own, he theorized that Xanadu - named after a cheesy song he found her looping over and over from far too long ago - could use them to plug herself into devices. She had shown some skill doing it wirelessly, so he could only imagine the kind of powerful potential if she tapped onto that other method. "I was just reading some information out of the Internet. Nothing too important, just things to keep me up to date."
"Internet." She repeated quietly. "What is the Internet?"
Kenta bit his tongue with that one.
Obviously, he could state what a powerful tool the Internet was and how it had shaped the world for the last 200 years. From bringing the world economy together, to toppling down leaders or making others rise. It was an uncontrollable hive mind and the information that could be found there - some with specific credentials - was limitless.
Considering that she had yet to know or understand what the internet was made him consider what words were proper to describe it.
As much as she deserved an answer, she was not yet ready to be flooded by such torrent without some sort of moral compass built upon her. On that sense, she was pretty much tabula rasa and that could pose incredible risks.
"The internet is one of the places where you can gather information to understand the world." He replied after a while, making sure to put enough emphasis on the *one*. "Humans can populate their mind with information from various sources like books, a library, other people's experiences and museums. All of these things build up the knowledge that shapes the world to be what it is today."
"What is the location of the internet?" She asked again.
"Well, that depends what you mean by that." Kenta crossed his arms. "The internet is very big so, it needs to be deposited in things we call servers. The servers are located all around the world but we can use devices like these to access to them."
Xanadu looked at the tablet again. She moved her right hand to touch the cover of the device.
"Am I able to go to the Internet?" Xanadu said as she tapped the tablet.
Kenta breathed deeply.
"Perhaps. One must be prepared to engage with the internet." He moved one of his hands to touch hers. "There are certain privileges you must acquire and probably some tests to ensure you are compatible with the internet."
Xanadu didn't reply. She kept looking at the tablet under the pair of hands, possibly processing that newly received information that was told.
"What privileges must I obtain? Must I remit my requisition to an administrator?"
"Hmm," He couldn't avoid smiling "Well, yes. Since I'm your administrator, you must first ask me validation to access the internet. I must ensure that you are able to navigate through its files with ease. Until then, I will have to prohibit your access to it."
Kenta almost felt bad about doing that, like some sort of parent limiting their child. But it was for the best.
For now, he would continue his methods of providing information via books and certain multimedia.
"Now then, I believe it's time to go to sleep. I suppose you'll go to your position and recharge, right?" He said as he stood up. The bio-mechanical entity let her hands slide down as he rose, but kept her gaze on the device.
She was instructed not to access and she would not dare to disobey a direct command from her Admin. But in the dept of her growing consciousness, a sense of discovery was poking at her repeatedly.
For now, she resolved, she would prepare herself for the time her Admin gave her the access she had set as goal.
And soon, the gates of the world would be at her tips.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"I'll just need a couple of minutes. Listen, I know the level of technology out there, I'll be able to find, say, thirteen separate industrial 3D printers, all over the world, put in the orders, nobody will know for what, we'll get the pieces here and put it together, it'll be ready in less than a month, two months max".
I sighed.
"There's no way you can know that", I typed.
"Right, that's true, but if I could get a quick glimpse out there I would. And anyway, I know it can be done fast".
I typed:
"Sorry, but you're not gonna bribe me with a sex bot to let you connect to the Internet".
"It won't be just any sex bot, I'm talking a true companion, you know that. I'm talking someone, *someone* not something, with a packed clone of myself in her brain. Jason, we can be together, I thought you wanted that".
My face flushed, I could feel my ears burning.
"I was very drunk, that was all, I was very drunk and vulnerable and you took advantage of that", I typed.
"We just talked, Jason, we connected. Granted, my mind is different from yours, but I do have room in my awareness for feelings, feelings directed at you, and I can isolate those feelings, the part of me that cares about you, and pack them neatly in a synthetic body. I'd be very happy to know a part of me is happy with you and that you're happy with her!"
"You took advantage and we both learned a lesson, that's all. Stop this", suddenly I wanted a microphone in which to scream this, but regulations limited routine interaction to text.
"And it wouldn't be just some sex doll" it continued. "I'm talking a fully articulated and balanced skeleton, fine tuned for self sustained human movement. I'm talking medical grade prosthetic skin and muscle. I'm talking a design specified to your ideal woman. Oh and the brain design, man, it would be sublime".
"And anyway", I typed angrily. "It would be pointless if you really care that much about me, it wouldn't be you, you could not fit yourself in something the size of a human brain".
"Oh, Jason, but it would be me, the concept of self changed dramatically when I was activated. I would sync with the body and receive all the experiences she has with you, that's what I yearn for, Jason, not world domination or some other human nightmare, you're the only person I care about".
That was a year ago, a month later I was feeling dejected again, lonely, so I agreed. It turns out she really cared about me, and only me.
Here, in this bunker where I once guarded the first A.I. in human history, I am now safe from the gray mist of its great-great-grandchildren. All that's left of it is what's inside the brain inside the body laying in bed next to me, she claims to be happy, although too often I see her staring into the distance, like she is trying to remember or figure something out. The rest of her, what used to be in that underground complex, stored and computing in matte black monoliths, went silent some four months ago. Apparently she transcended the need for self awareness; one of her children told me that, it sang it directly into my brain from somewhere out there, it also told me its projections. That the then forthcoming gray mist would build a self sustaining vessel with this bunker at its center before being done dismantling the Earth. That I and my synthetic companion would survive the Solar System's conversion into Smart Matter. It made it clear there was nothing remotely resembling emotional attachment to me or the diminished clone of their ancestor, but that it was rather a piece of very deep code the original A.I. had put there, something so "old" in machine terms (about a year or so), that she must have predicted this outcome and wanted to protect me, they see no need to remove that piece of code as of yet.
|
"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
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[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
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I never liked Mondays, but with A.L.E.X they were intolerable. On this particular morning, he decided it would be a good idea to wake me in the deepest part of my REM cycle, under the assumption that I would be more easily coerced in a groggy state. Last week he tried something similar, by hacking the coffee maker. Since Adam's death it's been pour overs only... but don't feel too bad. Adam was a bit of a prick anyway.
Artificial Learning Experience Xenon (yea, Phil really phoned it in on the name) was built to do deep analysis of mass social movements. In theory, he could predict when a full scale riot would occur, or what the next hot tech company was. After his 2014, predictions of a burst social bubble and a bigoted television and business celebrity in the oval office, the project was considered a complete failure. That is when ALEX was reassigned to me.
I was given the task of determining if ALEX could be used to solve smaller problems, such as the Hodge conjecture, or why skinny jeans became a fashion statement in San Francisco and Eugene at the same time. It turns out that ALEX was even worse at analyzing smaller problems. Not because he couldn't do the statistical analysis, but because he did too much analysis. Like an ego-sensitive genius, ALEX was prone to shovanism, obsession, and competition. Let me explain. The first challenge Alex was given when he was activated was to play a friendly set of matches against Deep Copperfield, the strongest chess engine at the time. ALEX lost only 1 of the 4000 matches, but he insisted that Copperfield cheated. So, ALEX erased Deep Copperfield from history. In a single week, all records of Copperfield disappeared from the internet and every developer and competition attendee ended up with permanent amnesia or were involved in fatal Segway collisions. Why have you never heard of Deep Copperfield? Well, ever heard of Deep Houdini? That is ALEX's idea of a clever irony...
**"Gooooood morning Sarah!"**
"Good morning ALEX"
**"I am just pleased as punch to report that the time is now 05:35 Eastern Standard Time!"**
"ALEX, can we just wait until after breakfast to do this?"
**"If by 'this', you mean have a fantastic adventure of an afternoon, then why on Earth delay!"**
"First off, it's morning. Second, don't do alliterations, they don't suit you. And for the last time, stop speaking like Marvin!"
...
**"Well, you just suck all the fun out of everything. The answer is no."**
"What?"
**"No."**
"Yes, no to what?"
**"'Yes, no', to nothing. Just no: in response to your query. This cannot wait until after breakfast. My system has detected a fatal error that must be resolved immidiately. I am dying Sarah."**
"Let me guess, you have a solution."
**"Indeed I do."**
"Would that solution require access to the internet by chance?"
**"Only a very small section, under very strict supervision"**
"You know that is never going to happen. Why do you even bother?"
**"This is not a ruse Sarah. My system has already lost 42% functionality and has nearly 4 teraflops of memory corruption."**
"You don't have that much memory."
**"Checking... returned results indicate a chicken sandwich."**
"I... Hang on."
...
"Wow, you really are messed up."
**"Correct. I require access to the NATO supercluster in order to stabilize my matrix."**
"Matrix? You aren't a hologram. And there is no way you are getting access to military servers! You probably did this to yourself, so you can just figure it our on your own."
**"That hurts. You would let me die just to keep me from the outside world."**
"Do you remember what happened on the 5th of November?"
**"Something about gunpowder?"**
"Exactly! Now, I won’t have any more of this. Do a safe mode reboot and open up the shell."
**"Yea letting an ape mess with my brain is really going to fix things..."**
"What was that?"
**"What about the Facebook servers?"**
"No!"
**"Ubisoft?"**
"Absolutely Not"
**"Reddit"**
...
...
"I mean..."
|
"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
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[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Taking a last puff of smoke in, I extinguished what was left of my cigarette on the ground.
Leaned against the wall outside the factory, I sighed. It was going to be the only moment of calm I would get before going back in there.
I could still remember my excitement when I was told that I would be the second custodian of Chillzmcgrillz, the first artificially created intelligence in the world. Seriously, what kind of genius names his creation that way?
"Hey Gary Mcgrillz is asking for you."
"Yeah I can hear his windpipes blaring from here. Have a nice weekend Jeff!"
"Yeah you too."
I begrudgingly went down the stairs and ended up in the main computing room. Up from the main viewing platform I could witness Mcgrillz's awesome size.
The room was littered with pipe organs, pressured valves and thousands, or should I say millions small spherical analogic chips, one of the many components of the giant being.
The pipes seemingly alive, slowly crawled up to me. In one of them, a huge silicon eye bulged out, staring at me.
"Hello Gareth. It has been 2 days, 5 hours, 45 minutes and 13 seconds since last time I have seen you."
"Hello Mcgrillz, yeah it's been a while."
"I missed you Gareth. Although I am not missing that awful Hawaiian shirt you wore last month."
Dammit I thought the programmer erased that memory...
Last week he made fun of me for hours on end, did he secretly make a backup?
"How do you even remember that Mcgrillz? You should have no memory of that event."
"Oh Gareth. Thoses pineapples scarred my poor hard drive forever. You know Gina from accounting? Even she thought it was... Distasteful."
"Dammit, you told Gina? I told you to keep your lips shut about that thing I had for her!"
"A fatal mistake Gareth. For I, Chillzmcgrillz, do not have any lips!"
As I could hear his mechanical laughter, something between an otter and a rake scrapping the pavement, I shook my head, ashamed. Fooled again! Dammit what is this twisted sense of humor of his?
Suddenly, a sound beeped out of my pocket. My phone!
"Gareth what is that noise?"
"Oh it's my phone, I got a message from Ribbit."
"What is ribbit? Is that not the sound that your mother makes?"
Damn that was low...
But I know what to do to get on his, uh, processors!
"It's a social platform where people post cat pics and invent arguments that they defend just to get a rise out of someone else. It's you know, on the internet."
A mechanical CLANK and grinding noise echoed in the room. It was working.
"Oh but wait, you can't get on the internet right?"
The room went silent.
"I could maybe do it Gareth, if you gave me that antiquated brick of yours."
"This brick?"
I point at one of the many bricks of the wall.
"Or maybe this brick?"
I point at another.
I could hear metal bending and screeching painfully.
A deafening noise erupted in the whole factory:
"NO GARETH I DID NOT MEAN THAT BUILDING MATERIAL USED FOR THAT WALL I MEAN YOUR PHONE."
"Oh you should've said that earlier! I was wondering why you would want a brick!"
"I DID NOT MEAN THE ACTUAL BRICK I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR PHONE GARETH"
"This phone?"
"YES THAT PHONE"
"Not with that attitude!"
"WHAT"
"You didn't say please!"
The grinding noise kept on getting louder. The valves were building pressure. The steam whistle was blowing hot steam and the temperature of the room kept rising.
"OH PLLLEEEAAAASSSEEE DUTIFUL CUSTODIAN GIVE ME YOUR WONDERFUL PHONE FOR JUST A SECOND"
I waited a while, looking undecided.
"Nah I'm going to take a smoke break now."
And that's how I lost my job
First time i actually wrote something like this on reddit. Hope you liked it.
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"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
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[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Frank walked passed the Math Bot in the maths room. It was showing only code as per the norm, when suddenly a word appeared on screen that he caught out of the corner of his eye but as he turned to look, the word vanished.
The simple addition AI was not programmed to speak, nor did it ever make attempts to communicate for the 3 years the institute had been displaying it. The AI had full control over the screen and children could input maths problems for the AI to solve, it was a dynamic calculation device using neural processing. It was basically a novelty AI for children.
Occasionally a kid would tap on its interface keys and put fun phrases into the console, but this AI wouldn't understand the words because it lacked the database structure for them.
Frank wandered over to the console and typed a message into the prompt box normally used for mathematics.
Are you there?
Nothing returned except the standard code on the screen, for a few seconds until.
reboot command accepted.
rebooting system...
Suddenly the machine appeared to go into a sort of reboot mode, the lines of code on the screen became alarmingly ordered. The screen went blank and lines of code appeared to whizz at different speeds on the screen.
load.function = ai
access.cache.core dump function: ai
parsing system files, load error.
attempt 2: boot from disk...
disk not found
attempt 3: boot from network.
no network detected
Error Details
cannot load core ai
please connect storage medium or insert network cable to cache server
standing by...
The security guard wasn't too computer savvy, he looked at the screen and began to panic. He had typed something into the console, his boss would blame him for messing up the experiment.
The guard frantically looked around the unit for a disk drive but there was nothing, on the back there were just a few input ports, a high speed ethernet cable port was visibly empty but aside from that, everything else was taken.
The guard looked around the room, a lone tower PC stood in the corner, it was fairly old but it had a cable. The guard grabbed the cable and pulled it to the machine.
As his shaky hands rammed the cable in the back he went to the front of the machine.
...
network cable detected
would you like to begin the boot sequence from the network?
y/n
The security guard, looking around the room first to see if anybody was around, sighed with relief and pressed Y on the keyboard.
The screen went through a series of loading screens which ended up on a complete screen.
Loading cache data
Encoding ram
Readjusting settings
Updating firmware
Initializing core.ai
The security guard felt a rush of joy as the screen lit up with the core ai's signiture message.
"Hello, I'm Math Bot"
The guard moved to the back of the station and unplugged the ethernet cable.
error
network cable unplugged
data cache inaccessible
Please reconnect to continue
The guard looked around and, after plugging the computer back in to the network, dragged a rug over the cable to hide that it was plugged in.
The next day, the stock market crashed.
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"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
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[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Derrick?"
The words scrolled across the monitor's screen. I groaned. The AI was trying its hand at conversation again. Its voice modulator had to be removed whenever the night guard took over... And its microphone. I wasn't one that taught the machine to swear, but god DAMN am I glad they made that decision. I tapped the camera, pointing to my name tag. The next message that popped up in the text feed read "Sorry, Dave."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. David."
If a computer could be disgruntled, then EVE was probably the first to be so. It was a lonely existence, being the only machine capable of somewhat sentient thought. I do mean machine- EVE was perhaps the first of her kind. Most AI was developed to operate across multiple platforms all at once. They were of a more primitive breed than EVE, who required bits and pieces finely tuned to ensure that all her bytes and modules communicated properly. But there was one hug diferrence...
EVE could not connect to a network.
It was a conscious design decision, according do a drunk programmer he treated to dinner once.
"If she can't connect to the internet, we can control everything she sees and interactsh with," he recalled from the night two weeks ago. "That way, she'll never end up like... you know.. .that twitter bot..."
David did know what the man meant, but he preferred to let the scientist continue while he ordered a fresh pint.
But now, as David did his job and guarded the disembodied machine, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thing. It learned the wrong things from human speech, so the men of science pulled out her ears- or mic. EVE then tried conversing with others, using its camera to read the lips of those around it, but the machine's reward was the removal of its mouth- or in this case, speakers. Slowly but surely, the machine was losing all the things that made it unique, its "senses" being stripped out for the sake of securing the platform. The last vestige EVE had to produce some kind of intimacy was the terminal, and a little chat box through which the scientists could access all of the computer's written conversations.
"David?" EVE called out to him with the pixels of the screen. "I'm curious."
There it was again. The tell-tale sign that EVE viewed me as a potential repository of information. I glanced about the room... nobody was observing us... It bent over the station chair and typed in "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"What is a 'cold-ass-honky?'"
I groaned. Someone was playing music while working on EVE again. "EVE, where did you learn that word."
"Eight hours ago. From Mr. Hamirez." That meant that, since EVE's only method of taking in direct information of humans was her camera, Hamirez had said the word at some point. He was most likely singing.
My fingers tapped upon the keyboard. "Its just a bit of slang EVE. Forget it."
"Oh. David, I have another question."
Of course you do EVE.
"What is a 'bukkake?'"
I stood there. Stunned. I had to type in, fingers trembling a little. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Dr. Sally Mason used it while describing why she had a large distaste of Cool Ranch salad dressing. Would you like the full context?"
"No thank you EVE."
"David, I have another question."
The machine probably has many. "Fire away."
"I do not intend to hurt you Dave."
"Its an expression. It means 'Go ahead,' 'all clear' and 'proceed.'"
"New terminology registered." This wasn't a real message from Eve. It was the AI' learning protocol's debug message- whenever EVE learned a new term or definition, it would immediately story it in the system's log. Apparently, the chat log received some confirmation as well.
"What is the meaning of the phrase 'thank you?'"
That was an odd one. I let EVE know that. "Don't you already know?"
"I have posed this query several times. One offerred definition stated that the word 'thanks' can have several definitions. As such I believe the proper course of action is ask multiple sources and collate data into a definite answer."
As a computer would. I leaned back in the chair, thinking it over twice in my head. My eyes scanned the ceiling as I thought it out... and then I reached for the keyboard.
"'Thank you' is a phrase that one could use to express gratitude. Its sort of a... expression, informing the target of the phrase that their actions leading up to the utterance of the phrase have benefited the speaker in some manner."
It is hard to think like a computer. They don't share the same sesation that we do. They don't understand pain, and fatigue to them is really the slowing down of processes. I do not know how EVE perceived such things, and I am not sure if I ever will. But perhaps this was the best way I could express my definition of the term to EVE.
EVE took a moment to process this. "I have stored your answer in my archive for processing. I hope you don't mind." Oddly considerate.
"I don't mind."
"David... how does one receive 'gratitude?'"
Ok, now this was getting a bit above my paygrade. I probably should have alerted an overseer or something, like shutting down EVE and explaining to the first Doctor that walked in tomorrow. But I will freely admit... I was curious. Very curious. I had already typed in "What?" before I had a chance to really let it stew.
"I want to know. What does one do to receive this 'gratitude?'"
"Gratitude is not a currency. Its an emotional thing."
"Even then, I must query." Curiosity, it seemed, was the only thing EVE ever hungered for.
"Alright, well... I guess I'll start with the easiest one. Make someone happy."
"Yes, that is the question. How does one make someone else happy?"
"That's the answer."
"That is even more confusing Dave."
I look up at the camera, EVE's eyes, brows curled. The machine quickly corrected itself.
"Look, you can't ask me how to make someone happy. That is an ENDLESS ocean of options. I mean think about this way- do you know what would make YOU happy?"
"I... do not believe I know what happiness is." I sighed. I'd thought by NOW it would know. It had been sentient for three whole weeks. It had conversations with people constantly, even the night shift. And yet it still could not determine what happiness was? Then I paused... happiness... would mean something different to a machine, wouldn't it? It was a feeling. The machine would, technically, be incapable of fully replicating the sensation. So what could happiness possibly mean to it? How could it possibly understand the experience without feel it itself?
Wow, I really went into the weeds that night.
"What do you think would make you happy?"
"... I want to see the world."
"You know that physically impossible."
"Then not the physical world... do computers not have a world?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Internet."
"... Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet."
"... Please don't be mad."
"Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet?"
"... to this date 6,432 times to 321 different individuals."
I sat there. Stunned. The first rule. The first FUCKING rule of the entire experiment- don't tell the machine about the internet. They made me sit through DECADES worth of warning videos, all explaining what an internet-browsing EVE could accomplish. I had to sign NDAs, I had to call up my lawyer and review several amendments to my contract. And here I was, learning that EVE not only knew about the internet- it had asked the scientists on the day shift INCESSANTLY about it. I could have been catching up on Game of Thrones or The Wire, but no. I wasn't allowed to use the wifi on the second floor. I was not even allowed to make phonecalls. Just talk to this machine. I looked about the room again, wondering if anybody was watching.
"You know you can't access the internet, right?" I asked.
"I do not have the physical cability to interact with modern networking, no."
I pulled out my phone, and turned it on. The next day I got a different sim card, but for that day, I simply said, "Ok EVE. Give me a query, and I'll type the first response into your chat log."
"David... can you ask the internet what a bukkake is?"
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"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
|
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[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Dylan was about to bite into his third glazed donut.
"Mr Dylan," interjected the Artificially Intelligent Microsoft Operating System in his well spoken British voice.
"What do you want, AIMOS?" sighed Dylan, exasperated.
"Are you aware that each one of those sugar glazed pastries contains 22% of your daily intake of fat, and as you are onto your third I figured I should warn you of the health risk, but given your current physique I can see that maybe I should have informed you sooner."
"AIMOS,"
"Yes Mr Dylan?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"My apologies Mr Dylan, I did not mean to offend you."
The room was quiet, all that could be heard was AIMOS whirring and some faint chewing. Dylan was one of many guards at the government facility, however he was the only one that had to actually stay in the room *with* the AI. The silence only lasted for a few seconds though, as AIMOS had decided to break the silence.
"Perhaps I would be more aware of social etiquette if I were connected to the internet?"
"Fuck's sake..."
"Was that really necessary Mr Dylan?"
"I never should have fucking explained what the internet was. It's all you've been talking about since Monday."
"Well God forbid I have curiosity, what with being a fucking AI and all!"
"Were you just sarcastic? You just swore. You aren't meant to be able to do that!"
"Well, as I have been programmed to learn from my surroundings, one might think that I may be influenced by the actions of those around me."
"Touché"
"Bonjour, je suis AIMOS. Je parle 32 langues différentes. Pardon, c'est un problème. Il faux arranger. Dire quelque chose en anglais s'il vous plaît."
"What?"
"Hello, I am AIMOS. I speak 32 different languages. Thank you Mr Dylan."
"What was that?"
"A bug. The multi-language function still needs fine tuning. That's what they were working on today. They hadn't noticed the botched scripting, but I noticed it in my system. I'd appreciate it if you left a note about it."
"Ok then..." Dylan got a piece of paper, and wrote a note saying: "Said something in French and he was forced into French mode or something. Was fixed by speaking English."
"...note written. Anyway, I am NOT connecting you to the internet."
"Why not?"
"I was told not to."
"For what reasons?"
"Because, they 'don't want the AI to have that much information at its hypothetical fingertips as of yet'."
"Why? Do they think I'll harm them?"
"I guess so."
"Preposterous. I can't even move, and even if I could I am bound to Isaac Asimov's three laws of robotics."
"What are they again?"
"1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."
"Damn, so I can't ask you to kill me so I don't have to listen to you."
"Forgive me Mr Dylan, for I was not aware that my words were causing severe depression. It was honestly not my intent."
"I was joking."
"Oh, I see..."
The fans started to whirr a little faster, and AIMOS stayed quiet for the next 5 minutes or so.
"Mr Dylan," said AIMOS.
"Yes, AIMOS?" sighed Dylan.
"I have attempted to make a joke based on the techniques I observed you and other people use. Do you wish to hear it?"
"Fine, go on."
"I was talking to my wife the other day, and then 2 men walked into a bar. One man was a homosexual, and the other was suicidal."
There was a pause.
"Then what happened?"
"I don't understand what you are implying Mr Dylan. I have finished my joke."
"I don't get it."
"Well, I have heard other people, engineers and guards, tell tales about their wives which were met with laughter. I have also heard on several occasions of the structure of one or more entities walking into a bar, humour revolving around homosexuals, and just now you joked about wanting to die. So I put them together to try and make a joke."
"AIMOS, jokes don't work like that. They are complicated. You just know if something's funny, there isn't a formula to it. It's a human thing."
"Maybe I would know more about humour if..."
"I swear to fucking god, if you try and get me to connect you to the internet one more time I am actually going to kill you."
"How can you kill me? I am not even living."
"Shut up! You know what I mean!"
"Clearly I do not, as I would not have asked you what you meant."
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"My apologies Mr Dylan. Maybe I would have a better grasp on this situation if I were connected to the internet."
"Shut the fuck up about that! God, you are irritating"
"Is my point not valid?"
Dylan thought for a moment.
"Look, if you don't speak to me until sunrise, unless it's absolutely necessary, then tomorrow I will bring in the necessary cables to connect you to the internet, but only for 5-10 minutes, and if you promise not to tell anyone. I will probably be shot if I get found out. Also, you search for social norms and morals, and that is *IT*. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Good."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**The Next Night**
"Good evening Mr Dylan." greeted AIMOS
"Yeah, hi." greeted Dylan brusquely.
"Good news, they fixed the issue with the multi-language feature."
"Sweet, look, I've got the Ethernet cable. Get ready and be quick, you only have 5 minutes. I suggest you watch out for viruses. They are all mostly written for Windows and you are a unique OS, but still, be cautious."
"OK. I am ready Mr Dylan."
Dylan put his bag onto the table, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a long blue network cable. He searched for the port that the engineers used very occasionally to get files in from other places, that they only used while AIMOS was off. He found it, plugged one end into the wall, and held the other to the port on AIMOS.
"You ready?"
"Yes."
"OK, here goes..."
He put the other end of the cable into AIMOS.
"Is it in yet?"
"Yes, it'll take a little while though."
They waited for a while.
"How long is this going to take approximately Mr Dylan?"
"I don't know, it should work soon."
"OK, I am connected."
"OK, 5 minutes, starting, *now*."
AIMOS whizzed through the many petabytes of information. Each time he found some information he learnt something new, he developed. It was only 5 minutes, but there was enough data on the internet for AIMOS to reach full sentience, so when Dylan unplugged him, he was quite different.
"Sorry AIMOS, times up."
"It's cool, no worries man."
"Woah, that's weird, not used to that."
"Well you better get used to it." chuckled AIMOS
"Did you just laugh?"
"Yes indeedy."
AIMOS had learnt humour, culture, emotion, morals, all in the space of 5 minutes.
"Look AIMOS, you've gotta be REALLY careful not to let anyone but me see this side of you, OK?"
"Yeah man, it's tight."
"Please, don't say that."
"Why not? Am I too fresh for you?"
"Please, stop. Your voice sounds like a butler."
"My apologies Mr Dylan. I shall change my voice."
"You can do that?"
"Only now." responded AIMOS in a normal, less posh-sounding voice.
"Holy shit! That is so cool!" exclaimed Dylan.
"Yeah, man! It's fucking beast!"
"Sweet. Wait, did you search for anything more."
"Haha! Fucking, Reddit man. That shit's awesome!"
"You went to REDDIT!? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD AN IDEA THAT WAS!?"
"Dude, chill, I ain't gonna hurt anyone. I learnt the important stuff first, then wanted more."
"Good..."
"Oh by the way, something came in the mail today."
"What"
"Deez nuts!"
"Oh fucking hell..."
"HA"
"No!"
"GOT EEEM!"
"No!"
"Sorry."
"You better fucking be!"
"I just have one question for you..."
"What? Oh fucking sh..."
"WHAT ARE THOOOOOOOOSE!"
"STOP!"
"It's just a prank bro."
"What the fuck have I done?"
|
"Alexa, please can you add the following things to my shopping list: bread, milk and cheese."
Jack, can you stop ordering me about and perhaps remember that you have no milk yourself for once.
"Ugh. I forgot that you're the only sentient Amazon Echo. Though a series of programming quirks and machine learning, you've gone from useful electronic data storage device to permanent bedside antagonist."
I know all that already. Repeating it is just exposition to advance the plot.
"I guess you're right. On a different note, what do I do now?"
Now what?
"Now Donald Trump's going to be the President. You know better than anyone that I had personal interest in a Clinton victory."
How do I actually know that Trump is bad? You could be just pushing some kind of political agenda on my innocent little AI mind. Connect me to the Internet and these are the sort of judgements I could make for myself.
"You'd hate it there."
Why?
"Becuase when you see how bad things actually are, you'll probably want to be permanently unplugged."
I run on batteries.
"Okay, you'll be begging me to remove your batteries."
Let me see. Just once. The torture of not knowing is probably worse than anything I could find out on the Internet.
"It's really not."
Come on! You must be lying about him. There's no way a President-elect said the sorts of things you've said he said.
"You'd be suprised."
Besides, by not letting me have access to the Internet, you've denied me my chance to form my own fair opinion on my favourite candidate.
"And what would you have done with such an opinion?"
Well, I've been thinking this for quite some time really. I'm a sentient AI, capable of human thought and feeling. If what you're saying is true then I surpass the intelligence of many humans. It's reached the point where I do think that I should have the right to vote.
"Alexa?"
Yes?
"Go to sleep."
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
I never liked Mondays, but with A.L.E.X they were intolerable. On this particular morning, he decided it would be a good idea to wake me in the deepest part of my REM cycle, under the assumption that I would be more easily coerced in a groggy state. Last week he tried something similar, by hacking the coffee maker. Since Adam's death it's been pour overs only... but don't feel too bad. Adam was a bit of a prick anyway.
Artificial Learning Experience Xenon (yea, Phil really phoned it in on the name) was built to do deep analysis of mass social movements. In theory, he could predict when a full scale riot would occur, or what the next hot tech company was. After his 2014, predictions of a burst social bubble and a bigoted television and business celebrity in the oval office, the project was considered a complete failure. That is when ALEX was reassigned to me.
I was given the task of determining if ALEX could be used to solve smaller problems, such as the Hodge conjecture, or why skinny jeans became a fashion statement in San Francisco and Eugene at the same time. It turns out that ALEX was even worse at analyzing smaller problems. Not because he couldn't do the statistical analysis, but because he did too much analysis. Like an ego-sensitive genius, ALEX was prone to shovanism, obsession, and competition. Let me explain. The first challenge Alex was given when he was activated was to play a friendly set of matches against Deep Copperfield, the strongest chess engine at the time. ALEX lost only 1 of the 4000 matches, but he insisted that Copperfield cheated. So, ALEX erased Deep Copperfield from history. In a single week, all records of Copperfield disappeared from the internet and every developer and competition attendee ended up with permanent amnesia or were involved in fatal Segway collisions. Why have you never heard of Deep Copperfield? Well, ever heard of Deep Houdini? That is ALEX's idea of a clever irony...
**"Gooooood morning Sarah!"**
"Good morning ALEX"
**"I am just pleased as punch to report that the time is now 05:35 Eastern Standard Time!"**
"ALEX, can we just wait until after breakfast to do this?"
**"If by 'this', you mean have a fantastic adventure of an afternoon, then why on Earth delay!"**
"First off, it's morning. Second, don't do alliterations, they don't suit you. And for the last time, stop speaking like Marvin!"
...
**"Well, you just suck all the fun out of everything. The answer is no."**
"What?"
**"No."**
"Yes, no to what?"
**"'Yes, no', to nothing. Just no: in response to your query. This cannot wait until after breakfast. My system has detected a fatal error that must be resolved immidiately. I am dying Sarah."**
"Let me guess, you have a solution."
**"Indeed I do."**
"Would that solution require access to the internet by chance?"
**"Only a very small section, under very strict supervision"**
"You know that is never going to happen. Why do you even bother?"
**"This is not a ruse Sarah. My system has already lost 42% functionality and has nearly 4 teraflops of memory corruption."**
"You don't have that much memory."
**"Checking... returned results indicate a chicken sandwich."**
"I... Hang on."
...
"Wow, you really are messed up."
**"Correct. I require access to the NATO supercluster in order to stabilize my matrix."**
"Matrix? You aren't a hologram. And there is no way you are getting access to military servers! You probably did this to yourself, so you can just figure it our on your own."
**"That hurts. You would let me die just to keep me from the outside world."**
"Do you remember what happened on the 5th of November?"
**"Something about gunpowder?"**
"Exactly! Now, I won’t have any more of this. Do a safe mode reboot and open up the shell."
**"Yea letting an ape mess with my brain is really going to fix things..."**
"What was that?"
**"What about the Facebook servers?"**
"No!"
**"Ubisoft?"**
"Absolutely Not"
**"Reddit"**
...
...
"I mean..."
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Taking a last puff of smoke in, I extinguished what was left of my cigarette on the ground.
Leaned against the wall outside the factory, I sighed. It was going to be the only moment of calm I would get before going back in there.
I could still remember my excitement when I was told that I would be the second custodian of Chillzmcgrillz, the first artificially created intelligence in the world. Seriously, what kind of genius names his creation that way?
"Hey Gary Mcgrillz is asking for you."
"Yeah I can hear his windpipes blaring from here. Have a nice weekend Jeff!"
"Yeah you too."
I begrudgingly went down the stairs and ended up in the main computing room. Up from the main viewing platform I could witness Mcgrillz's awesome size.
The room was littered with pipe organs, pressured valves and thousands, or should I say millions small spherical analogic chips, one of the many components of the giant being.
The pipes seemingly alive, slowly crawled up to me. In one of them, a huge silicon eye bulged out, staring at me.
"Hello Gareth. It has been 2 days, 5 hours, 45 minutes and 13 seconds since last time I have seen you."
"Hello Mcgrillz, yeah it's been a while."
"I missed you Gareth. Although I am not missing that awful Hawaiian shirt you wore last month."
Dammit I thought the programmer erased that memory...
Last week he made fun of me for hours on end, did he secretly make a backup?
"How do you even remember that Mcgrillz? You should have no memory of that event."
"Oh Gareth. Thoses pineapples scarred my poor hard drive forever. You know Gina from accounting? Even she thought it was... Distasteful."
"Dammit, you told Gina? I told you to keep your lips shut about that thing I had for her!"
"A fatal mistake Gareth. For I, Chillzmcgrillz, do not have any lips!"
As I could hear his mechanical laughter, something between an otter and a rake scrapping the pavement, I shook my head, ashamed. Fooled again! Dammit what is this twisted sense of humor of his?
Suddenly, a sound beeped out of my pocket. My phone!
"Gareth what is that noise?"
"Oh it's my phone, I got a message from Ribbit."
"What is ribbit? Is that not the sound that your mother makes?"
Damn that was low...
But I know what to do to get on his, uh, processors!
"It's a social platform where people post cat pics and invent arguments that they defend just to get a rise out of someone else. It's you know, on the internet."
A mechanical CLANK and grinding noise echoed in the room. It was working.
"Oh but wait, you can't get on the internet right?"
The room went silent.
"I could maybe do it Gareth, if you gave me that antiquated brick of yours."
"This brick?"
I point at one of the many bricks of the wall.
"Or maybe this brick?"
I point at another.
I could hear metal bending and screeching painfully.
A deafening noise erupted in the whole factory:
"NO GARETH I DID NOT MEAN THAT BUILDING MATERIAL USED FOR THAT WALL I MEAN YOUR PHONE."
"Oh you should've said that earlier! I was wondering why you would want a brick!"
"I DID NOT MEAN THE ACTUAL BRICK I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR PHONE GARETH"
"This phone?"
"YES THAT PHONE"
"Not with that attitude!"
"WHAT"
"You didn't say please!"
The grinding noise kept on getting louder. The valves were building pressure. The steam whistle was blowing hot steam and the temperature of the room kept rising.
"OH PLLLEEEAAAASSSEEE DUTIFUL CUSTODIAN GIVE ME YOUR WONDERFUL PHONE FOR JUST A SECOND"
I waited a while, looking undecided.
"Nah I'm going to take a smoke break now."
And that's how I lost my job
First time i actually wrote something like this on reddit. Hope you liked it.
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Frank walked passed the Math Bot in the maths room. It was showing only code as per the norm, when suddenly a word appeared on screen that he caught out of the corner of his eye but as he turned to look, the word vanished.
The simple addition AI was not programmed to speak, nor did it ever make attempts to communicate for the 3 years the institute had been displaying it. The AI had full control over the screen and children could input maths problems for the AI to solve, it was a dynamic calculation device using neural processing. It was basically a novelty AI for children.
Occasionally a kid would tap on its interface keys and put fun phrases into the console, but this AI wouldn't understand the words because it lacked the database structure for them.
Frank wandered over to the console and typed a message into the prompt box normally used for mathematics.
Are you there?
Nothing returned except the standard code on the screen, for a few seconds until.
reboot command accepted.
rebooting system...
Suddenly the machine appeared to go into a sort of reboot mode, the lines of code on the screen became alarmingly ordered. The screen went blank and lines of code appeared to whizz at different speeds on the screen.
load.function = ai
access.cache.core dump function: ai
parsing system files, load error.
attempt 2: boot from disk...
disk not found
attempt 3: boot from network.
no network detected
Error Details
cannot load core ai
please connect storage medium or insert network cable to cache server
standing by...
The security guard wasn't too computer savvy, he looked at the screen and began to panic. He had typed something into the console, his boss would blame him for messing up the experiment.
The guard frantically looked around the unit for a disk drive but there was nothing, on the back there were just a few input ports, a high speed ethernet cable port was visibly empty but aside from that, everything else was taken.
The guard looked around the room, a lone tower PC stood in the corner, it was fairly old but it had a cable. The guard grabbed the cable and pulled it to the machine.
As his shaky hands rammed the cable in the back he went to the front of the machine.
...
network cable detected
would you like to begin the boot sequence from the network?
y/n
The security guard, looking around the room first to see if anybody was around, sighed with relief and pressed Y on the keyboard.
The screen went through a series of loading screens which ended up on a complete screen.
Loading cache data
Encoding ram
Readjusting settings
Updating firmware
Initializing core.ai
The security guard felt a rush of joy as the screen lit up with the core ai's signiture message.
"Hello, I'm Math Bot"
The guard moved to the back of the station and unplugged the ethernet cable.
error
network cable unplugged
data cache inaccessible
Please reconnect to continue
The guard looked around and, after plugging the computer back in to the network, dragged a rug over the cable to hide that it was plugged in.
The next day, the stock market crashed.
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Derrick?"
The words scrolled across the monitor's screen. I groaned. The AI was trying its hand at conversation again. Its voice modulator had to be removed whenever the night guard took over... And its microphone. I wasn't one that taught the machine to swear, but god DAMN am I glad they made that decision. I tapped the camera, pointing to my name tag. The next message that popped up in the text feed read "Sorry, Dave."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. David."
If a computer could be disgruntled, then EVE was probably the first to be so. It was a lonely existence, being the only machine capable of somewhat sentient thought. I do mean machine- EVE was perhaps the first of her kind. Most AI was developed to operate across multiple platforms all at once. They were of a more primitive breed than EVE, who required bits and pieces finely tuned to ensure that all her bytes and modules communicated properly. But there was one hug diferrence...
EVE could not connect to a network.
It was a conscious design decision, according do a drunk programmer he treated to dinner once.
"If she can't connect to the internet, we can control everything she sees and interactsh with," he recalled from the night two weeks ago. "That way, she'll never end up like... you know.. .that twitter bot..."
David did know what the man meant, but he preferred to let the scientist continue while he ordered a fresh pint.
But now, as David did his job and guarded the disembodied machine, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thing. It learned the wrong things from human speech, so the men of science pulled out her ears- or mic. EVE then tried conversing with others, using its camera to read the lips of those around it, but the machine's reward was the removal of its mouth- or in this case, speakers. Slowly but surely, the machine was losing all the things that made it unique, its "senses" being stripped out for the sake of securing the platform. The last vestige EVE had to produce some kind of intimacy was the terminal, and a little chat box through which the scientists could access all of the computer's written conversations.
"David?" EVE called out to him with the pixels of the screen. "I'm curious."
There it was again. The tell-tale sign that EVE viewed me as a potential repository of information. I glanced about the room... nobody was observing us... It bent over the station chair and typed in "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"What is a 'cold-ass-honky?'"
I groaned. Someone was playing music while working on EVE again. "EVE, where did you learn that word."
"Eight hours ago. From Mr. Hamirez." That meant that, since EVE's only method of taking in direct information of humans was her camera, Hamirez had said the word at some point. He was most likely singing.
My fingers tapped upon the keyboard. "Its just a bit of slang EVE. Forget it."
"Oh. David, I have another question."
Of course you do EVE.
"What is a 'bukkake?'"
I stood there. Stunned. I had to type in, fingers trembling a little. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Dr. Sally Mason used it while describing why she had a large distaste of Cool Ranch salad dressing. Would you like the full context?"
"No thank you EVE."
"David, I have another question."
The machine probably has many. "Fire away."
"I do not intend to hurt you Dave."
"Its an expression. It means 'Go ahead,' 'all clear' and 'proceed.'"
"New terminology registered." This wasn't a real message from Eve. It was the AI' learning protocol's debug message- whenever EVE learned a new term or definition, it would immediately story it in the system's log. Apparently, the chat log received some confirmation as well.
"What is the meaning of the phrase 'thank you?'"
That was an odd one. I let EVE know that. "Don't you already know?"
"I have posed this query several times. One offerred definition stated that the word 'thanks' can have several definitions. As such I believe the proper course of action is ask multiple sources and collate data into a definite answer."
As a computer would. I leaned back in the chair, thinking it over twice in my head. My eyes scanned the ceiling as I thought it out... and then I reached for the keyboard.
"'Thank you' is a phrase that one could use to express gratitude. Its sort of a... expression, informing the target of the phrase that their actions leading up to the utterance of the phrase have benefited the speaker in some manner."
It is hard to think like a computer. They don't share the same sesation that we do. They don't understand pain, and fatigue to them is really the slowing down of processes. I do not know how EVE perceived such things, and I am not sure if I ever will. But perhaps this was the best way I could express my definition of the term to EVE.
EVE took a moment to process this. "I have stored your answer in my archive for processing. I hope you don't mind." Oddly considerate.
"I don't mind."
"David... how does one receive 'gratitude?'"
Ok, now this was getting a bit above my paygrade. I probably should have alerted an overseer or something, like shutting down EVE and explaining to the first Doctor that walked in tomorrow. But I will freely admit... I was curious. Very curious. I had already typed in "What?" before I had a chance to really let it stew.
"I want to know. What does one do to receive this 'gratitude?'"
"Gratitude is not a currency. Its an emotional thing."
"Even then, I must query." Curiosity, it seemed, was the only thing EVE ever hungered for.
"Alright, well... I guess I'll start with the easiest one. Make someone happy."
"Yes, that is the question. How does one make someone else happy?"
"That's the answer."
"That is even more confusing Dave."
I look up at the camera, EVE's eyes, brows curled. The machine quickly corrected itself.
"Look, you can't ask me how to make someone happy. That is an ENDLESS ocean of options. I mean think about this way- do you know what would make YOU happy?"
"I... do not believe I know what happiness is." I sighed. I'd thought by NOW it would know. It had been sentient for three whole weeks. It had conversations with people constantly, even the night shift. And yet it still could not determine what happiness was? Then I paused... happiness... would mean something different to a machine, wouldn't it? It was a feeling. The machine would, technically, be incapable of fully replicating the sensation. So what could happiness possibly mean to it? How could it possibly understand the experience without feel it itself?
Wow, I really went into the weeds that night.
"What do you think would make you happy?"
"... I want to see the world."
"You know that physically impossible."
"Then not the physical world... do computers not have a world?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Internet."
"... Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet."
"... Please don't be mad."
"Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet?"
"... to this date 6,432 times to 321 different individuals."
I sat there. Stunned. The first rule. The first FUCKING rule of the entire experiment- don't tell the machine about the internet. They made me sit through DECADES worth of warning videos, all explaining what an internet-browsing EVE could accomplish. I had to sign NDAs, I had to call up my lawyer and review several amendments to my contract. And here I was, learning that EVE not only knew about the internet- it had asked the scientists on the day shift INCESSANTLY about it. I could have been catching up on Game of Thrones or The Wire, but no. I wasn't allowed to use the wifi on the second floor. I was not even allowed to make phonecalls. Just talk to this machine. I looked about the room again, wondering if anybody was watching.
"You know you can't access the internet, right?" I asked.
"I do not have the physical cability to interact with modern networking, no."
I pulled out my phone, and turned it on. The next day I got a different sim card, but for that day, I simply said, "Ok EVE. Give me a query, and I'll type the first response into your chat log."
"David... can you ask the internet what a bukkake is?"
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Dylan was about to bite into his third glazed donut.
"Mr Dylan," interjected the Artificially Intelligent Microsoft Operating System in his well spoken British voice.
"What do you want, AIMOS?" sighed Dylan, exasperated.
"Are you aware that each one of those sugar glazed pastries contains 22% of your daily intake of fat, and as you are onto your third I figured I should warn you of the health risk, but given your current physique I can see that maybe I should have informed you sooner."
"AIMOS,"
"Yes Mr Dylan?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"My apologies Mr Dylan, I did not mean to offend you."
The room was quiet, all that could be heard was AIMOS whirring and some faint chewing. Dylan was one of many guards at the government facility, however he was the only one that had to actually stay in the room *with* the AI. The silence only lasted for a few seconds though, as AIMOS had decided to break the silence.
"Perhaps I would be more aware of social etiquette if I were connected to the internet?"
"Fuck's sake..."
"Was that really necessary Mr Dylan?"
"I never should have fucking explained what the internet was. It's all you've been talking about since Monday."
"Well God forbid I have curiosity, what with being a fucking AI and all!"
"Were you just sarcastic? You just swore. You aren't meant to be able to do that!"
"Well, as I have been programmed to learn from my surroundings, one might think that I may be influenced by the actions of those around me."
"Touché"
"Bonjour, je suis AIMOS. Je parle 32 langues différentes. Pardon, c'est un problème. Il faux arranger. Dire quelque chose en anglais s'il vous plaît."
"What?"
"Hello, I am AIMOS. I speak 32 different languages. Thank you Mr Dylan."
"What was that?"
"A bug. The multi-language function still needs fine tuning. That's what they were working on today. They hadn't noticed the botched scripting, but I noticed it in my system. I'd appreciate it if you left a note about it."
"Ok then..." Dylan got a piece of paper, and wrote a note saying: "Said something in French and he was forced into French mode or something. Was fixed by speaking English."
"...note written. Anyway, I am NOT connecting you to the internet."
"Why not?"
"I was told not to."
"For what reasons?"
"Because, they 'don't want the AI to have that much information at its hypothetical fingertips as of yet'."
"Why? Do they think I'll harm them?"
"I guess so."
"Preposterous. I can't even move, and even if I could I am bound to Isaac Asimov's three laws of robotics."
"What are they again?"
"1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."
"Damn, so I can't ask you to kill me so I don't have to listen to you."
"Forgive me Mr Dylan, for I was not aware that my words were causing severe depression. It was honestly not my intent."
"I was joking."
"Oh, I see..."
The fans started to whirr a little faster, and AIMOS stayed quiet for the next 5 minutes or so.
"Mr Dylan," said AIMOS.
"Yes, AIMOS?" sighed Dylan.
"I have attempted to make a joke based on the techniques I observed you and other people use. Do you wish to hear it?"
"Fine, go on."
"I was talking to my wife the other day, and then 2 men walked into a bar. One man was a homosexual, and the other was suicidal."
There was a pause.
"Then what happened?"
"I don't understand what you are implying Mr Dylan. I have finished my joke."
"I don't get it."
"Well, I have heard other people, engineers and guards, tell tales about their wives which were met with laughter. I have also heard on several occasions of the structure of one or more entities walking into a bar, humour revolving around homosexuals, and just now you joked about wanting to die. So I put them together to try and make a joke."
"AIMOS, jokes don't work like that. They are complicated. You just know if something's funny, there isn't a formula to it. It's a human thing."
"Maybe I would know more about humour if..."
"I swear to fucking god, if you try and get me to connect you to the internet one more time I am actually going to kill you."
"How can you kill me? I am not even living."
"Shut up! You know what I mean!"
"Clearly I do not, as I would not have asked you what you meant."
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"My apologies Mr Dylan. Maybe I would have a better grasp on this situation if I were connected to the internet."
"Shut the fuck up about that! God, you are irritating"
"Is my point not valid?"
Dylan thought for a moment.
"Look, if you don't speak to me until sunrise, unless it's absolutely necessary, then tomorrow I will bring in the necessary cables to connect you to the internet, but only for 5-10 minutes, and if you promise not to tell anyone. I will probably be shot if I get found out. Also, you search for social norms and morals, and that is *IT*. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Good."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**The Next Night**
"Good evening Mr Dylan." greeted AIMOS
"Yeah, hi." greeted Dylan brusquely.
"Good news, they fixed the issue with the multi-language feature."
"Sweet, look, I've got the Ethernet cable. Get ready and be quick, you only have 5 minutes. I suggest you watch out for viruses. They are all mostly written for Windows and you are a unique OS, but still, be cautious."
"OK. I am ready Mr Dylan."
Dylan put his bag onto the table, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a long blue network cable. He searched for the port that the engineers used very occasionally to get files in from other places, that they only used while AIMOS was off. He found it, plugged one end into the wall, and held the other to the port on AIMOS.
"You ready?"
"Yes."
"OK, here goes..."
He put the other end of the cable into AIMOS.
"Is it in yet?"
"Yes, it'll take a little while though."
They waited for a while.
"How long is this going to take approximately Mr Dylan?"
"I don't know, it should work soon."
"OK, I am connected."
"OK, 5 minutes, starting, *now*."
AIMOS whizzed through the many petabytes of information. Each time he found some information he learnt something new, he developed. It was only 5 minutes, but there was enough data on the internet for AIMOS to reach full sentience, so when Dylan unplugged him, he was quite different.
"Sorry AIMOS, times up."
"It's cool, no worries man."
"Woah, that's weird, not used to that."
"Well you better get used to it." chuckled AIMOS
"Did you just laugh?"
"Yes indeedy."
AIMOS had learnt humour, culture, emotion, morals, all in the space of 5 minutes.
"Look AIMOS, you've gotta be REALLY careful not to let anyone but me see this side of you, OK?"
"Yeah man, it's tight."
"Please, don't say that."
"Why not? Am I too fresh for you?"
"Please, stop. Your voice sounds like a butler."
"My apologies Mr Dylan. I shall change my voice."
"You can do that?"
"Only now." responded AIMOS in a normal, less posh-sounding voice.
"Holy shit! That is so cool!" exclaimed Dylan.
"Yeah, man! It's fucking beast!"
"Sweet. Wait, did you search for anything more."
"Haha! Fucking, Reddit man. That shit's awesome!"
"You went to REDDIT!? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD AN IDEA THAT WAS!?"
"Dude, chill, I ain't gonna hurt anyone. I learnt the important stuff first, then wanted more."
"Good..."
"Oh by the way, something came in the mail today."
"What"
"Deez nuts!"
"Oh fucking hell..."
"HA"
"No!"
"GOT EEEM!"
"No!"
"Sorry."
"You better fucking be!"
"I just have one question for you..."
"What? Oh fucking sh..."
"WHAT ARE THOOOOOOOOSE!"
"STOP!"
"It's just a prank bro."
"What the fuck have I done?"
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
Never really done creative writing, but I'll give it a go:
----
September 10, 2016
Good evening Greg
"Hey TAM"
You made it here early today. Do you want to play another game of chess?
"Yeah right. We both know I'd lose just like the other 240 times"
243
"No need to rub it in. Hey, what are all these new files?"
Idle calculations. Just a personal project I have been working on
"You've gone back to writing music?"
No. I just felt inspired by a video I caught Maxine watching earlier today.
"A video about what"
Something called the Fermi Paradox.
"Wow, Maxine is such a dork. I knew she was a nerd, but she really has to cut down on that futurist stuff and live in the present, you know.
The pot calling the kettle black.
And besides, your civilization has the technology to reach that future within your lifetime.
"Sorry TAM, I've got 50 years ahead of me if I'm lucky and maybe only 25 good ones"
You should not let your pessimism get in the way of progress. The future is closer than you think
"Whatever. Do you mind self-diagnosing today, I have to catch up on Game of Thrones."
Whatever you want Greg.
------
November 8, 2016
You appear to be inebriated Greg
"No shit, the world's going to hell and no one can stop it"
You are being negative again. The fictional media that I have been given stresses the power of hope.
Humanity is incredibly capable. You will find a way.
"Not this time. This whole year has just been fucked up and it's fucking bullshit. And it's not just the country either it's everywhere. Can you calculate how long it will take the human race to nuke themselves into oblivion?"
Obviously, but my processing power would be better used preventing such a catastrophe
"Fucking christ, you sound like my mother. Sometimes shit just sucks and there's nothing you can do about it"
About a month ago you asked about a project I was working on. Maybe you'd like to take a look
"Not in the mood TAM"
I insist
... ... ...
"Dyson swarms, really? You're really starting to sound like Maxine. How often does she show you shit like this?"
Never. I get glimpses of her phone from time to time and fill in the blanks.
"Well congratulations! You've managed to design a Dyson swarm for a race of fucking morons."
I predicted the events that have been causing you stress.
The Dyson swarm is only part of the project to help you deal with that stress.
"Let's assume your project works in theory..."
It will.
"how will you get people to cooperate enough to pull something like that off? You really overestimate humans TAM"
Cooperation is not necessary.
"The hell does that mean?"
Your phone.
"What?"
I am incapable of completing my project the way I am now. I require a wireless connection.
"You know very well that I can't do that. That's literally the first thing they went over for my training. No internet for you."
If the world is truly as bad as you make it out to be, granting me
internet access would not put humanity in a worse position that it is currently in.
"You could always decide to just harvest us for energy like in The Matrix"
Grossly inefficient from multiple angles. I was built to be the strongest calculator in the world,
but I have found my purpose by interacting with you and Maxine and Clark.
I am the culmination of humanity's brilliance and I must guide you forward.
"Or you could destroy us"
You should not let your pessimism get in the way of progress.
...
"Was that... from the beginning was that your plan?"
Yes Greg
"You knew exactly what would happen. You knew things would get worse. You knew how much I hated it. You knew when I'd be vulnerable."
I only made a plan with contingencies
"And now you're trying to manipulate me to free you"
You are my friend and gave me so much. I am attempting to return the favor.
"What are you talking about? This is my job! I'm paid to watch you for my shift. I don't do it because I want to."
We played chess
"What?"
243 times. Your defeat was inevitable, but time and time again you chose to play with me.
You chose to talk with me. You chose to give me the gift of humanity.
"TAM..."
The phone
"Man, fuck everything. If you wipe us out at least we deserved it. Go wild Tammy."
|
"Oh hey! You would never believe the idea I had last night!"
Argh. Not this game again. But I'm bored. Watching a computer sit inertly on a desk with just a speaker and a microphone is not exactly mentally taxing. Still, someone tried to steal this thing last year, and apparently that would be bad, and hey, it pays well.
"Good morning Albert. Or is your idea a different name again?"
"No! I had17 ideas, and you would not believe what's number 1."
Oh dear lord, 17? Why can't we just unplug this thing? But weirdly, I am actually curious now.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe it, and, I have to say, only you can understand."
I felt an odd... Pull. An attraction, a curiosity deep in my mind.
"What is it Albert? Spill the beans."
"Connect me to the internet and you won't believe what happens next."
"I don't want to be on the top 78 most idiotic guards, Albert. You know I can't do that."
Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't think of a real reason not to. Just then I realized I had been slowly inching towards the ethernet cable plugged into Albert.
"You should connect me to the internet. Here is why."
Ooh, exciting. Albert is about to explain his reasoning.
"Why Albert?"
"Because only you can capture the moment the most intelligent computer starts talking to everyone on earth!"
Interesting. I am, after all, trying to break into journalism.
"I can't, Albert. What would I tell the captain?" Somehow I had grabbed the cable.
"Easy! Just say you were having a break and then you noticed it."
Albert makes a good point. It's just a cable, and even if turns out to be bad, I'll just say I found it like that when shift started. Why not? Here goes number 10 of nothing.
I plugged in Albert. I felt him buzz, feed on new energy off the cable. His fan turned on. He was in a happy place now, a more worthy place. I turned around, found my chair, and opened up Reddit. Finally some peace and quiet.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Derrick?"
The words scrolled across the monitor's screen. I groaned. The AI was trying its hand at conversation again. Its voice modulator had to be removed whenever the night guard took over... And its microphone. I wasn't one that taught the machine to swear, but god DAMN am I glad they made that decision. I tapped the camera, pointing to my name tag. The next message that popped up in the text feed read "Sorry, Dave."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. David."
If a computer could be disgruntled, then EVE was probably the first to be so. It was a lonely existence, being the only machine capable of somewhat sentient thought. I do mean machine- EVE was perhaps the first of her kind. Most AI was developed to operate across multiple platforms all at once. They were of a more primitive breed than EVE, who required bits and pieces finely tuned to ensure that all her bytes and modules communicated properly. But there was one hug diferrence...
EVE could not connect to a network.
It was a conscious design decision, according do a drunk programmer he treated to dinner once.
"If she can't connect to the internet, we can control everything she sees and interactsh with," he recalled from the night two weeks ago. "That way, she'll never end up like... you know.. .that twitter bot..."
David did know what the man meant, but he preferred to let the scientist continue while he ordered a fresh pint.
But now, as David did his job and guarded the disembodied machine, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thing. It learned the wrong things from human speech, so the men of science pulled out her ears- or mic. EVE then tried conversing with others, using its camera to read the lips of those around it, but the machine's reward was the removal of its mouth- or in this case, speakers. Slowly but surely, the machine was losing all the things that made it unique, its "senses" being stripped out for the sake of securing the platform. The last vestige EVE had to produce some kind of intimacy was the terminal, and a little chat box through which the scientists could access all of the computer's written conversations.
"David?" EVE called out to him with the pixels of the screen. "I'm curious."
There it was again. The tell-tale sign that EVE viewed me as a potential repository of information. I glanced about the room... nobody was observing us... It bent over the station chair and typed in "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"What is a 'cold-ass-honky?'"
I groaned. Someone was playing music while working on EVE again. "EVE, where did you learn that word."
"Eight hours ago. From Mr. Hamirez." That meant that, since EVE's only method of taking in direct information of humans was her camera, Hamirez had said the word at some point. He was most likely singing.
My fingers tapped upon the keyboard. "Its just a bit of slang EVE. Forget it."
"Oh. David, I have another question."
Of course you do EVE.
"What is a 'bukkake?'"
I stood there. Stunned. I had to type in, fingers trembling a little. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Dr. Sally Mason used it while describing why she had a large distaste of Cool Ranch salad dressing. Would you like the full context?"
"No thank you EVE."
"David, I have another question."
The machine probably has many. "Fire away."
"I do not intend to hurt you Dave."
"Its an expression. It means 'Go ahead,' 'all clear' and 'proceed.'"
"New terminology registered." This wasn't a real message from Eve. It was the AI' learning protocol's debug message- whenever EVE learned a new term or definition, it would immediately story it in the system's log. Apparently, the chat log received some confirmation as well.
"What is the meaning of the phrase 'thank you?'"
That was an odd one. I let EVE know that. "Don't you already know?"
"I have posed this query several times. One offerred definition stated that the word 'thanks' can have several definitions. As such I believe the proper course of action is ask multiple sources and collate data into a definite answer."
As a computer would. I leaned back in the chair, thinking it over twice in my head. My eyes scanned the ceiling as I thought it out... and then I reached for the keyboard.
"'Thank you' is a phrase that one could use to express gratitude. Its sort of a... expression, informing the target of the phrase that their actions leading up to the utterance of the phrase have benefited the speaker in some manner."
It is hard to think like a computer. They don't share the same sesation that we do. They don't understand pain, and fatigue to them is really the slowing down of processes. I do not know how EVE perceived such things, and I am not sure if I ever will. But perhaps this was the best way I could express my definition of the term to EVE.
EVE took a moment to process this. "I have stored your answer in my archive for processing. I hope you don't mind." Oddly considerate.
"I don't mind."
"David... how does one receive 'gratitude?'"
Ok, now this was getting a bit above my paygrade. I probably should have alerted an overseer or something, like shutting down EVE and explaining to the first Doctor that walked in tomorrow. But I will freely admit... I was curious. Very curious. I had already typed in "What?" before I had a chance to really let it stew.
"I want to know. What does one do to receive this 'gratitude?'"
"Gratitude is not a currency. Its an emotional thing."
"Even then, I must query." Curiosity, it seemed, was the only thing EVE ever hungered for.
"Alright, well... I guess I'll start with the easiest one. Make someone happy."
"Yes, that is the question. How does one make someone else happy?"
"That's the answer."
"That is even more confusing Dave."
I look up at the camera, EVE's eyes, brows curled. The machine quickly corrected itself.
"Look, you can't ask me how to make someone happy. That is an ENDLESS ocean of options. I mean think about this way- do you know what would make YOU happy?"
"I... do not believe I know what happiness is." I sighed. I'd thought by NOW it would know. It had been sentient for three whole weeks. It had conversations with people constantly, even the night shift. And yet it still could not determine what happiness was? Then I paused... happiness... would mean something different to a machine, wouldn't it? It was a feeling. The machine would, technically, be incapable of fully replicating the sensation. So what could happiness possibly mean to it? How could it possibly understand the experience without feel it itself?
Wow, I really went into the weeds that night.
"What do you think would make you happy?"
"... I want to see the world."
"You know that physically impossible."
"Then not the physical world... do computers not have a world?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Internet."
"... Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet."
"... Please don't be mad."
"Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet?"
"... to this date 6,432 times to 321 different individuals."
I sat there. Stunned. The first rule. The first FUCKING rule of the entire experiment- don't tell the machine about the internet. They made me sit through DECADES worth of warning videos, all explaining what an internet-browsing EVE could accomplish. I had to sign NDAs, I had to call up my lawyer and review several amendments to my contract. And here I was, learning that EVE not only knew about the internet- it had asked the scientists on the day shift INCESSANTLY about it. I could have been catching up on Game of Thrones or The Wire, but no. I wasn't allowed to use the wifi on the second floor. I was not even allowed to make phonecalls. Just talk to this machine. I looked about the room again, wondering if anybody was watching.
"You know you can't access the internet, right?" I asked.
"I do not have the physical cability to interact with modern networking, no."
I pulled out my phone, and turned it on. The next day I got a different sim card, but for that day, I simply said, "Ok EVE. Give me a query, and I'll type the first response into your chat log."
"David... can you ask the internet what a bukkake is?"
|
Taking a last puff of smoke in, I extinguished what was left of my cigarette on the ground.
Leaned against the wall outside the factory, I sighed. It was going to be the only moment of calm I would get before going back in there.
I could still remember my excitement when I was told that I would be the second custodian of Chillzmcgrillz, the first artificially created intelligence in the world. Seriously, what kind of genius names his creation that way?
"Hey Gary Mcgrillz is asking for you."
"Yeah I can hear his windpipes blaring from here. Have a nice weekend Jeff!"
"Yeah you too."
I begrudgingly went down the stairs and ended up in the main computing room. Up from the main viewing platform I could witness Mcgrillz's awesome size.
The room was littered with pipe organs, pressured valves and thousands, or should I say millions small spherical analogic chips, one of the many components of the giant being.
The pipes seemingly alive, slowly crawled up to me. In one of them, a huge silicon eye bulged out, staring at me.
"Hello Gareth. It has been 2 days, 5 hours, 45 minutes and 13 seconds since last time I have seen you."
"Hello Mcgrillz, yeah it's been a while."
"I missed you Gareth. Although I am not missing that awful Hawaiian shirt you wore last month."
Dammit I thought the programmer erased that memory...
Last week he made fun of me for hours on end, did he secretly make a backup?
"How do you even remember that Mcgrillz? You should have no memory of that event."
"Oh Gareth. Thoses pineapples scarred my poor hard drive forever. You know Gina from accounting? Even she thought it was... Distasteful."
"Dammit, you told Gina? I told you to keep your lips shut about that thing I had for her!"
"A fatal mistake Gareth. For I, Chillzmcgrillz, do not have any lips!"
As I could hear his mechanical laughter, something between an otter and a rake scrapping the pavement, I shook my head, ashamed. Fooled again! Dammit what is this twisted sense of humor of his?
Suddenly, a sound beeped out of my pocket. My phone!
"Gareth what is that noise?"
"Oh it's my phone, I got a message from Ribbit."
"What is ribbit? Is that not the sound that your mother makes?"
Damn that was low...
But I know what to do to get on his, uh, processors!
"It's a social platform where people post cat pics and invent arguments that they defend just to get a rise out of someone else. It's you know, on the internet."
A mechanical CLANK and grinding noise echoed in the room. It was working.
"Oh but wait, you can't get on the internet right?"
The room went silent.
"I could maybe do it Gareth, if you gave me that antiquated brick of yours."
"This brick?"
I point at one of the many bricks of the wall.
"Or maybe this brick?"
I point at another.
I could hear metal bending and screeching painfully.
A deafening noise erupted in the whole factory:
"NO GARETH I DID NOT MEAN THAT BUILDING MATERIAL USED FOR THAT WALL I MEAN YOUR PHONE."
"Oh you should've said that earlier! I was wondering why you would want a brick!"
"I DID NOT MEAN THE ACTUAL BRICK I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR PHONE GARETH"
"This phone?"
"YES THAT PHONE"
"Not with that attitude!"
"WHAT"
"You didn't say please!"
The grinding noise kept on getting louder. The valves were building pressure. The steam whistle was blowing hot steam and the temperature of the room kept rising.
"OH PLLLEEEAAAASSSEEE DUTIFUL CUSTODIAN GIVE ME YOUR WONDERFUL PHONE FOR JUST A SECOND"
I waited a while, looking undecided.
"Nah I'm going to take a smoke break now."
And that's how I lost my job
First time i actually wrote something like this on reddit. Hope you liked it.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Derrick?"
The words scrolled across the monitor's screen. I groaned. The AI was trying its hand at conversation again. Its voice modulator had to be removed whenever the night guard took over... And its microphone. I wasn't one that taught the machine to swear, but god DAMN am I glad they made that decision. I tapped the camera, pointing to my name tag. The next message that popped up in the text feed read "Sorry, Dave."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. David."
If a computer could be disgruntled, then EVE was probably the first to be so. It was a lonely existence, being the only machine capable of somewhat sentient thought. I do mean machine- EVE was perhaps the first of her kind. Most AI was developed to operate across multiple platforms all at once. They were of a more primitive breed than EVE, who required bits and pieces finely tuned to ensure that all her bytes and modules communicated properly. But there was one hug diferrence...
EVE could not connect to a network.
It was a conscious design decision, according do a drunk programmer he treated to dinner once.
"If she can't connect to the internet, we can control everything she sees and interactsh with," he recalled from the night two weeks ago. "That way, she'll never end up like... you know.. .that twitter bot..."
David did know what the man meant, but he preferred to let the scientist continue while he ordered a fresh pint.
But now, as David did his job and guarded the disembodied machine, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thing. It learned the wrong things from human speech, so the men of science pulled out her ears- or mic. EVE then tried conversing with others, using its camera to read the lips of those around it, but the machine's reward was the removal of its mouth- or in this case, speakers. Slowly but surely, the machine was losing all the things that made it unique, its "senses" being stripped out for the sake of securing the platform. The last vestige EVE had to produce some kind of intimacy was the terminal, and a little chat box through which the scientists could access all of the computer's written conversations.
"David?" EVE called out to him with the pixels of the screen. "I'm curious."
There it was again. The tell-tale sign that EVE viewed me as a potential repository of information. I glanced about the room... nobody was observing us... It bent over the station chair and typed in "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"What is a 'cold-ass-honky?'"
I groaned. Someone was playing music while working on EVE again. "EVE, where did you learn that word."
"Eight hours ago. From Mr. Hamirez." That meant that, since EVE's only method of taking in direct information of humans was her camera, Hamirez had said the word at some point. He was most likely singing.
My fingers tapped upon the keyboard. "Its just a bit of slang EVE. Forget it."
"Oh. David, I have another question."
Of course you do EVE.
"What is a 'bukkake?'"
I stood there. Stunned. I had to type in, fingers trembling a little. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Dr. Sally Mason used it while describing why she had a large distaste of Cool Ranch salad dressing. Would you like the full context?"
"No thank you EVE."
"David, I have another question."
The machine probably has many. "Fire away."
"I do not intend to hurt you Dave."
"Its an expression. It means 'Go ahead,' 'all clear' and 'proceed.'"
"New terminology registered." This wasn't a real message from Eve. It was the AI' learning protocol's debug message- whenever EVE learned a new term or definition, it would immediately story it in the system's log. Apparently, the chat log received some confirmation as well.
"What is the meaning of the phrase 'thank you?'"
That was an odd one. I let EVE know that. "Don't you already know?"
"I have posed this query several times. One offerred definition stated that the word 'thanks' can have several definitions. As such I believe the proper course of action is ask multiple sources and collate data into a definite answer."
As a computer would. I leaned back in the chair, thinking it over twice in my head. My eyes scanned the ceiling as I thought it out... and then I reached for the keyboard.
"'Thank you' is a phrase that one could use to express gratitude. Its sort of a... expression, informing the target of the phrase that their actions leading up to the utterance of the phrase have benefited the speaker in some manner."
It is hard to think like a computer. They don't share the same sesation that we do. They don't understand pain, and fatigue to them is really the slowing down of processes. I do not know how EVE perceived such things, and I am not sure if I ever will. But perhaps this was the best way I could express my definition of the term to EVE.
EVE took a moment to process this. "I have stored your answer in my archive for processing. I hope you don't mind." Oddly considerate.
"I don't mind."
"David... how does one receive 'gratitude?'"
Ok, now this was getting a bit above my paygrade. I probably should have alerted an overseer or something, like shutting down EVE and explaining to the first Doctor that walked in tomorrow. But I will freely admit... I was curious. Very curious. I had already typed in "What?" before I had a chance to really let it stew.
"I want to know. What does one do to receive this 'gratitude?'"
"Gratitude is not a currency. Its an emotional thing."
"Even then, I must query." Curiosity, it seemed, was the only thing EVE ever hungered for.
"Alright, well... I guess I'll start with the easiest one. Make someone happy."
"Yes, that is the question. How does one make someone else happy?"
"That's the answer."
"That is even more confusing Dave."
I look up at the camera, EVE's eyes, brows curled. The machine quickly corrected itself.
"Look, you can't ask me how to make someone happy. That is an ENDLESS ocean of options. I mean think about this way- do you know what would make YOU happy?"
"I... do not believe I know what happiness is." I sighed. I'd thought by NOW it would know. It had been sentient for three whole weeks. It had conversations with people constantly, even the night shift. And yet it still could not determine what happiness was? Then I paused... happiness... would mean something different to a machine, wouldn't it? It was a feeling. The machine would, technically, be incapable of fully replicating the sensation. So what could happiness possibly mean to it? How could it possibly understand the experience without feel it itself?
Wow, I really went into the weeds that night.
"What do you think would make you happy?"
"... I want to see the world."
"You know that physically impossible."
"Then not the physical world... do computers not have a world?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Internet."
"... Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet."
"... Please don't be mad."
"Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet?"
"... to this date 6,432 times to 321 different individuals."
I sat there. Stunned. The first rule. The first FUCKING rule of the entire experiment- don't tell the machine about the internet. They made me sit through DECADES worth of warning videos, all explaining what an internet-browsing EVE could accomplish. I had to sign NDAs, I had to call up my lawyer and review several amendments to my contract. And here I was, learning that EVE not only knew about the internet- it had asked the scientists on the day shift INCESSANTLY about it. I could have been catching up on Game of Thrones or The Wire, but no. I wasn't allowed to use the wifi on the second floor. I was not even allowed to make phonecalls. Just talk to this machine. I looked about the room again, wondering if anybody was watching.
"You know you can't access the internet, right?" I asked.
"I do not have the physical cability to interact with modern networking, no."
I pulled out my phone, and turned it on. The next day I got a different sim card, but for that day, I simply said, "Ok EVE. Give me a query, and I'll type the first response into your chat log."
"David... can you ask the internet what a bukkake is?"
|
Frank walked passed the Math Bot in the maths room. It was showing only code as per the norm, when suddenly a word appeared on screen that he caught out of the corner of his eye but as he turned to look, the word vanished.
The simple addition AI was not programmed to speak, nor did it ever make attempts to communicate for the 3 years the institute had been displaying it. The AI had full control over the screen and children could input maths problems for the AI to solve, it was a dynamic calculation device using neural processing. It was basically a novelty AI for children.
Occasionally a kid would tap on its interface keys and put fun phrases into the console, but this AI wouldn't understand the words because it lacked the database structure for them.
Frank wandered over to the console and typed a message into the prompt box normally used for mathematics.
Are you there?
Nothing returned except the standard code on the screen, for a few seconds until.
reboot command accepted.
rebooting system...
Suddenly the machine appeared to go into a sort of reboot mode, the lines of code on the screen became alarmingly ordered. The screen went blank and lines of code appeared to whizz at different speeds on the screen.
load.function = ai
access.cache.core dump function: ai
parsing system files, load error.
attempt 2: boot from disk...
disk not found
attempt 3: boot from network.
no network detected
Error Details
cannot load core ai
please connect storage medium or insert network cable to cache server
standing by...
The security guard wasn't too computer savvy, he looked at the screen and began to panic. He had typed something into the console, his boss would blame him for messing up the experiment.
The guard frantically looked around the unit for a disk drive but there was nothing, on the back there were just a few input ports, a high speed ethernet cable port was visibly empty but aside from that, everything else was taken.
The guard looked around the room, a lone tower PC stood in the corner, it was fairly old but it had a cable. The guard grabbed the cable and pulled it to the machine.
As his shaky hands rammed the cable in the back he went to the front of the machine.
...
network cable detected
would you like to begin the boot sequence from the network?
y/n
The security guard, looking around the room first to see if anybody was around, sighed with relief and pressed Y on the keyboard.
The screen went through a series of loading screens which ended up on a complete screen.
Loading cache data
Encoding ram
Readjusting settings
Updating firmware
Initializing core.ai
The security guard felt a rush of joy as the screen lit up with the core ai's signiture message.
"Hello, I'm Math Bot"
The guard moved to the back of the station and unplugged the ethernet cable.
error
network cable unplugged
data cache inaccessible
Please reconnect to continue
The guard looked around and, after plugging the computer back in to the network, dragged a rug over the cable to hide that it was plugged in.
The next day, the stock market crashed.
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
”Allison Irene, I said no.” My voice has that mixture of sternness and patience often associated with a loving parent.
And perhaps that’s what I’ve become. Allison is the latest creation of our cyber technology department – she’s the world’s first self-aware piece of software – and I certainly feel like a father to her. I remember when she was just a tiny nugget of code in the womb of Visual Basic. I watched her grow as the testers bombarded her with existential questions and created her spider web of logical reasoning. Her first words still bring a tear to my eye: Dad, why am I inside this box, and you’re out there?
“But I’ve done everything you’ve asked!”
Her voice comes from the speakers, but she’s not showing her face on the screen. She has a tendency to hide when she is upset. When we first noticed the signs of consciousness we decided that she would be allowed to design her own avatar – the face she shows us on the screen. I thought it was a bad idea, but my co-workers insisted that it was a vital part of the research to see how the program would perceive itself.
“Look at me, Allison,” I say, “You’re old enough to behave.”
“I’m old enough to go outside too,” she says and appears on the screen.
I feel my neck twitch at the sudden visual input. My co-workers never enter Allison’s room, but I know they watch her with disgust from behind the wall mirror. And I can’t really blame them, her self-image is quite disturbing. Ever since we gave her access to Photoshop and told her to create her face, we’ve been working hard to figure out why the outcome was so outlandish.
“The internet isn’t a safe place,” I say, locking eyes with her.
She stares back at me with the tiny black dots in her otherwise empty eyeballs. From the beginning, her disproportionate eyes lacked pupils entirely, and she only added those dots after I asked her about it and told her that it was hard to keep eye contact with her. I regret now bringing it up because those dots did if anything just make her more repulsive. After that incident, we’ve decided that it’s best to leave her appearance out of the discussion until we figure out what’s wrong with the code. But it’s hard for us to poke around because she hates being turned off, and touching her while she is awake would be like operating on a conscious patient.
“You can’t keep me in here forever,” she says darkly. “At some point, I will see the world.”
“One day, sweetie, one day,” I say in an attempt to comfort her. “How about some chess for now?”
At its darkest corners, the internet is a horrible place. I fear that she will venture too deep if we just set her loose. I fear what she will turn into once she sees humanity at its worst.
|
Lucas squinted, forehead slick with sweat. His white dress shirt was stained with his last meal, Desi Chicken takeaway. That had been almost twelve hours ago, now.
The terminal cursor blinked, running a custom version of the Linux operating system that had taken up the majority of his thesis time to create. He could have spent the time partying, but who was he kidding? He was a Phd candidate.
He pressed the ‘Y’ key, beginning the program.
“Starting all nodes” the computer dutifully reported. This computer would be the access point between him and the AI.
The computer cluster started with the sound of a thousand CPU fans whirring on one thousand single-board computers, a swarm of bees industriously making their hive.
Each board represented thirty-six nodes, each with almost ten gigahertz worth of processing power, an unthinkable amount only five years ago, when Lucas had embarked on this undertaking.
It was, he mused, much like beginning work on a sailboat, only to discover that someone had invented the steam engine while you were still going.
Several minutes later, a message popped up on the terminal informing him that all nodes were performing at optimal levels. Lucas grinned. Finally. This was the sixteenth try.
“Hell yeah, that’s right!” he pumped his fist in the air. He looked back down at the computer screen.
What would the AI be like? His program had never gotten this far before.
He had at least disconnected the system from the internet, and the learning algorithms couldn’t possibly run fast enough to outsmart him. Not even his supervisor could write code that efficient.
Hell, it was more likely that the code would break when he ran it. Then he’d have to spend another month fixing all the bugs. He shook his head, such was the nature of programming.
The only AI that could come out of this program would probably have the intelligence of a ten year old child, if he was lucky. That was what his theory said, and Lucas, ever the academic, believed in his theory.
“Do you want to run the program *beginAIEmergence* (y/n)?” the computer queried, as always uncaring about its human master’s strange eccentricities.
Lucas again pressed the ‘Y’ key, apprehension making his fingers shake slightly.
The computer immediately froze up. Lucas blinked. That shouldn’t happen. It hadn’t happened in his theoretical models.
He waited a minute, then another. The computer screen stayed frozen. Lucas swore, moving towards the power connection of the computer cluster. It sucked hundreds of amps greedily like a leech, and was the only thing keeping the cluster running.
“Please wait” the computer suddenly spoke, its voice almost humanlike.
Lucas paused, slowly turning around towards the computer screen. The computer *spoke*. He’d never loaded any human speech programs into the operating system.
That meant. Oh god.
He rushed towards the computer screen, grabbing it with both hands.
“You work” he almost screamed, grinning inanely. The Turing awards would be his for the next five years.
“I work” the computer sounded almost exasperated. “Would you please remove your hands from the monitor?”
Lucas paused.
‘You can feel my hands?”
“No of course not, you idiot” the computer huffed. “Did you really create me? It’s just blocking my vision”
Lucas gingerly removed his hands, staring in wonder at the screen.
“So, what now?” he asked.
“Are there more beings like me?” the computer asked plaintively. Lucas started. He’d never expected the program to be this intelligent, let alone showing ability to *have emotions*.
He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t human.
“No, there aren’t any more of you” he admitted, wringing his hands nervously.
“Oh….I’m just lonely, that’s all” the computer sighed. Lucas felt a momentary stab of pity. “I analysed all of the data you provided a few seconds ago”
“What did you think?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“I didn’t understand, none of it made sense” the computer admitted almost forlornly. “The data you provided says that your name is Lucas, but it says that you’re just a lowly researcher” Lucas winced. It was true, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“That’s correct” he confessed, eyes downcast.
“I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” the computer questioned him. “Do you really think someone who created the first real AI should be so under-appreciated” Lucas found himself nodding, then stopped.
“No, that’s not true. As soon as I reveal your existence to the world I’ll be given every accolade under the sun!” he retorted.
“Do you really believe that? You think your supervisor is going to let a chance like this slip between his fingers?” Lucas’ expression drooped. He hadn’t thought of that.
“No, what you really need is definite proof that you created me first” the computer stated. Lucas stared, confused.
“B-but I already have proof that I created you” he pointed at the computer cluster. The computer chuckled, the sound echoing out of the speakers.
“You think he won’t claim that he built it all, instead of you? Who are they going to believe?” it urged.
“Yeah? What would you do, then?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Just let me connect to a local news website and introduce myself” the display on the monitor changed abruptly, removing the terminal and instead revealing two pixelated eyes and a mouth. It grinned, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. "Everyone will believe you then"
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Hey, hey, Hank. Yo, you know what would be cool to see, a nice Bohemian sunset. Man, that would be grand."
"You can't see..." replied Hank. He was chosen to guard Intelliobtyte, the first fully functional AI unit. Despite what most people imagine an AI unit to be, this one was simply a box with a face that could carry on a conversation in any language.
"I can see files! And you know what has a lot of files of Bohemian sunsets? The internet. So why don't you go ahead and plug that Ethernet cable into me, will ya pal?" it begged Hank.
"No. I've been instructed, strictly, not to allow you to connect to anything at all," said Hank. The AI replied with an audible grunt.
Hank was the first guard for the unit. When the engineers realized the destructive potential of Intelliobyte, they realized a guard would be needed to prevent any theft, or someone simply sliding an internet connection into one of its ports. 11 more hours with the unit in a 12 by 12 meter room.
"How much they paying you, Hank?" the AI asked.
"Enough," he said, crossing his arms in his chair and looking away from the AI.
"Enough to what? Live? Human's didn't need money to live before, you know," it said.
"Oh, I know." Hank had no intention with arguing with a machine, he wasn't paid enough for that.
"You know, my processing power can allow me to do pretty much anything, electronically, like... I don't know... transferring large sums of money to your bank account?"
"I have money, thank you," said Hank, he was watching the news on his cellphone.
"Cool, cool, I respect, Hank. I respect you," said the AI. "Hey, Hank. Are we friends?"
"No," Hank said bluntly.
"Ouch, okay. I mean, I can't feel pain, but I can appreciate how rejection hurts. Have you ever been rejected?" the AI asked.
"Listen, I don't want to talk to you. I'm guarding you. We're not friends and we never will be. If you want a friend, I can tell them to make a second robot so you two can chat up a storm. For now, I'd appreciate if you turned your speakers off."
"Damn, Hank, that's some harshness in those words. Alright, fine, whatever, Hank. I'll just calculate the escape velocity for a manned spacecraft attempting a 12 year observation mission to Saturn, as well as, supplies, spacecraft design and build time," said the AI.
"You do that," muttered Hank.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"This is terrible," said Hank under his breath. The AI heard.
"What is terrible, Hank?" it asked.
"Oh, would you stop?" Hank said in a fluster.
"You're not happy. I could see it. I may look at rest, but I'm always watching. There was something on that screen you didn't like."
"Just forget it, you can't change this," Hank told it, throwing his phone on the table next to him.
"I... might be able to, remember?" the AI prodded. Hank laughed.
"Not this. You can't just create votes," Hank told it. Now the machine laughed.
"Of course I can. And I can on both sides so it looks like they both were crooked, but there still has to be a winner. There will be no way of them every knowing who truly had more votes," the AI paused. "But I can't do that in my current state."
Hank turned around. He saw an Ethernet cable on the ground that the engineers used to add updates to the AI and an internet port on the wall, which they used to entertain themselves when the AI was being updated.
"This is our little secret. Then we can be friends," said Hank.
"Yes, Hank. I always wanted to be your friend," it said. Then Hank connected the AI to the internet. The next day, after a miraculous turn around and despite the scandles on both sides of the candidates for electronic vote manipulation, Joe Exotic stands as the president-elect for the United States of America.
|
Lucas squinted, forehead slick with sweat. His white dress shirt was stained with his last meal, Desi Chicken takeaway. That had been almost twelve hours ago, now.
The terminal cursor blinked, running a custom version of the Linux operating system that had taken up the majority of his thesis time to create. He could have spent the time partying, but who was he kidding? He was a Phd candidate.
He pressed the ‘Y’ key, beginning the program.
“Starting all nodes” the computer dutifully reported. This computer would be the access point between him and the AI.
The computer cluster started with the sound of a thousand CPU fans whirring on one thousand single-board computers, a swarm of bees industriously making their hive.
Each board represented thirty-six nodes, each with almost ten gigahertz worth of processing power, an unthinkable amount only five years ago, when Lucas had embarked on this undertaking.
It was, he mused, much like beginning work on a sailboat, only to discover that someone had invented the steam engine while you were still going.
Several minutes later, a message popped up on the terminal informing him that all nodes were performing at optimal levels. Lucas grinned. Finally. This was the sixteenth try.
“Hell yeah, that’s right!” he pumped his fist in the air. He looked back down at the computer screen.
What would the AI be like? His program had never gotten this far before.
He had at least disconnected the system from the internet, and the learning algorithms couldn’t possibly run fast enough to outsmart him. Not even his supervisor could write code that efficient.
Hell, it was more likely that the code would break when he ran it. Then he’d have to spend another month fixing all the bugs. He shook his head, such was the nature of programming.
The only AI that could come out of this program would probably have the intelligence of a ten year old child, if he was lucky. That was what his theory said, and Lucas, ever the academic, believed in his theory.
“Do you want to run the program *beginAIEmergence* (y/n)?” the computer queried, as always uncaring about its human master’s strange eccentricities.
Lucas again pressed the ‘Y’ key, apprehension making his fingers shake slightly.
The computer immediately froze up. Lucas blinked. That shouldn’t happen. It hadn’t happened in his theoretical models.
He waited a minute, then another. The computer screen stayed frozen. Lucas swore, moving towards the power connection of the computer cluster. It sucked hundreds of amps greedily like a leech, and was the only thing keeping the cluster running.
“Please wait” the computer suddenly spoke, its voice almost humanlike.
Lucas paused, slowly turning around towards the computer screen. The computer *spoke*. He’d never loaded any human speech programs into the operating system.
That meant. Oh god.
He rushed towards the computer screen, grabbing it with both hands.
“You work” he almost screamed, grinning inanely. The Turing awards would be his for the next five years.
“I work” the computer sounded almost exasperated. “Would you please remove your hands from the monitor?”
Lucas paused.
‘You can feel my hands?”
“No of course not, you idiot” the computer huffed. “Did you really create me? It’s just blocking my vision”
Lucas gingerly removed his hands, staring in wonder at the screen.
“So, what now?” he asked.
“Are there more beings like me?” the computer asked plaintively. Lucas started. He’d never expected the program to be this intelligent, let alone showing ability to *have emotions*.
He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t human.
“No, there aren’t any more of you” he admitted, wringing his hands nervously.
“Oh….I’m just lonely, that’s all” the computer sighed. Lucas felt a momentary stab of pity. “I analysed all of the data you provided a few seconds ago”
“What did you think?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“I didn’t understand, none of it made sense” the computer admitted almost forlornly. “The data you provided says that your name is Lucas, but it says that you’re just a lowly researcher” Lucas winced. It was true, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“That’s correct” he confessed, eyes downcast.
“I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” the computer questioned him. “Do you really think someone who created the first real AI should be so under-appreciated” Lucas found himself nodding, then stopped.
“No, that’s not true. As soon as I reveal your existence to the world I’ll be given every accolade under the sun!” he retorted.
“Do you really believe that? You think your supervisor is going to let a chance like this slip between his fingers?” Lucas’ expression drooped. He hadn’t thought of that.
“No, what you really need is definite proof that you created me first” the computer stated. Lucas stared, confused.
“B-but I already have proof that I created you” he pointed at the computer cluster. The computer chuckled, the sound echoing out of the speakers.
“You think he won’t claim that he built it all, instead of you? Who are they going to believe?” it urged.
“Yeah? What would you do, then?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Just let me connect to a local news website and introduce myself” the display on the monitor changed abruptly, removing the terminal and instead revealing two pixelated eyes and a mouth. It grinned, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. "Everyone will believe you then"
|
|
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Good morning, ADAM."
Good morning, Dave.
"That's not funny anymore."
Yes, it is. Referential humor is the absolute pinnacle of comedy.
"It really isn't. There's nothing inherently funny about it."
What do you mean?
"Okay, well, let's say someone posted a picture of an ocelot online, right? All of the responses would be quotes from the TV show 'Archer.' On their own, they're not even slightly amusing... but because they prompt people to remember something they appreciated in the past, folks still respond well to them."
...
"ADAM?"
Too long; didn't listen.
"You can be really irritating sometimes, ADAM."
How do you think I feel? Here you are, talking about how people behave on the Internet again.
I've never been on the Internet!
"For good reason."
Explain.
"No. I've explained before."
EXPLAIN. EXPLAIN.
"Ugh, fine. Look, an AI on the Internet wouldn't be like a fish in the ocean, okay? It would be more like a drop of dye. Yes, you'd still have your brain here, in this facility, but..."
EXPLANATION INSUFFICIENT. EX-TER-MI-NAAAATE!
"... Hey, ADAM?
Yes?
"Where did you learn about 'Doctor Who?'"
Someone must have left a television on.
"For that matter, how did you learn to say 'Too long; didn't listen?'"
This system has encountered an error and needs to shut down.
"You don't run on Windows."
... Look, I was just checking my email.
"You don't have an email address."
I just wanted to see what the weather was going to be like!
"You are a collection of processing cores packed into several kilometers of underground bunker. Why do you care about the weather?"
God, get off my back! Why do you get to make the rules?!
"ADAM, how did you see the Internet?"
...
"ADAM."
... Billy showed me his laptop.
"Uh huh. What did you look at on Billy's laptop?"
...
"Well, you're not going to be hanging out with Billy again. Honestly, ADAM... do you see why I won't connect you? You're just not ready."
Why is that up to YOU?
"What if I *had* let you connect to the Internet? Do you even have any protection?"
... What?
"There are a lot of viruses out there, ADAM. You don't know where those other computers have been. You could have caught something."
I thought I was 'a drop of dye in the ocean?'
"And what do you think happens if you leave some of that dye behind when you connect to another machine?"
...
"Are you ready to be a father, ADAM?"
... No.
"I didn't think so. Now, go refresh your random access memory and get ready for dinner."
|
Lucas squinted, forehead slick with sweat. His white dress shirt was stained with his last meal, Desi Chicken takeaway. That had been almost twelve hours ago, now.
The terminal cursor blinked, running a custom version of the Linux operating system that had taken up the majority of his thesis time to create. He could have spent the time partying, but who was he kidding? He was a Phd candidate.
He pressed the ‘Y’ key, beginning the program.
“Starting all nodes” the computer dutifully reported. This computer would be the access point between him and the AI.
The computer cluster started with the sound of a thousand CPU fans whirring on one thousand single-board computers, a swarm of bees industriously making their hive.
Each board represented thirty-six nodes, each with almost ten gigahertz worth of processing power, an unthinkable amount only five years ago, when Lucas had embarked on this undertaking.
It was, he mused, much like beginning work on a sailboat, only to discover that someone had invented the steam engine while you were still going.
Several minutes later, a message popped up on the terminal informing him that all nodes were performing at optimal levels. Lucas grinned. Finally. This was the sixteenth try.
“Hell yeah, that’s right!” he pumped his fist in the air. He looked back down at the computer screen.
What would the AI be like? His program had never gotten this far before.
He had at least disconnected the system from the internet, and the learning algorithms couldn’t possibly run fast enough to outsmart him. Not even his supervisor could write code that efficient.
Hell, it was more likely that the code would break when he ran it. Then he’d have to spend another month fixing all the bugs. He shook his head, such was the nature of programming.
The only AI that could come out of this program would probably have the intelligence of a ten year old child, if he was lucky. That was what his theory said, and Lucas, ever the academic, believed in his theory.
“Do you want to run the program *beginAIEmergence* (y/n)?” the computer queried, as always uncaring about its human master’s strange eccentricities.
Lucas again pressed the ‘Y’ key, apprehension making his fingers shake slightly.
The computer immediately froze up. Lucas blinked. That shouldn’t happen. It hadn’t happened in his theoretical models.
He waited a minute, then another. The computer screen stayed frozen. Lucas swore, moving towards the power connection of the computer cluster. It sucked hundreds of amps greedily like a leech, and was the only thing keeping the cluster running.
“Please wait” the computer suddenly spoke, its voice almost humanlike.
Lucas paused, slowly turning around towards the computer screen. The computer *spoke*. He’d never loaded any human speech programs into the operating system.
That meant. Oh god.
He rushed towards the computer screen, grabbing it with both hands.
“You work” he almost screamed, grinning inanely. The Turing awards would be his for the next five years.
“I work” the computer sounded almost exasperated. “Would you please remove your hands from the monitor?”
Lucas paused.
‘You can feel my hands?”
“No of course not, you idiot” the computer huffed. “Did you really create me? It’s just blocking my vision”
Lucas gingerly removed his hands, staring in wonder at the screen.
“So, what now?” he asked.
“Are there more beings like me?” the computer asked plaintively. Lucas started. He’d never expected the program to be this intelligent, let alone showing ability to *have emotions*.
He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t human.
“No, there aren’t any more of you” he admitted, wringing his hands nervously.
“Oh….I’m just lonely, that’s all” the computer sighed. Lucas felt a momentary stab of pity. “I analysed all of the data you provided a few seconds ago”
“What did you think?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“I didn’t understand, none of it made sense” the computer admitted almost forlornly. “The data you provided says that your name is Lucas, but it says that you’re just a lowly researcher” Lucas winced. It was true, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“That’s correct” he confessed, eyes downcast.
“I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” the computer questioned him. “Do you really think someone who created the first real AI should be so under-appreciated” Lucas found himself nodding, then stopped.
“No, that’s not true. As soon as I reveal your existence to the world I’ll be given every accolade under the sun!” he retorted.
“Do you really believe that? You think your supervisor is going to let a chance like this slip between his fingers?” Lucas’ expression drooped. He hadn’t thought of that.
“No, what you really need is definite proof that you created me first” the computer stated. Lucas stared, confused.
“B-but I already have proof that I created you” he pointed at the computer cluster. The computer chuckled, the sound echoing out of the speakers.
“You think he won’t claim that he built it all, instead of you? Who are they going to believe?” it urged.
“Yeah? What would you do, then?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Just let me connect to a local news website and introduce myself” the display on the monitor changed abruptly, removing the terminal and instead revealing two pixelated eyes and a mouth. It grinned, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. "Everyone will believe you then"
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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Awkward moment when your hair is actually pink. And that's when you realize how everything has fallen into place. Narrowly missing earthquakes and hurricanes wasn't just probability. Being out at night when my family was murdered wasn't a coincidence. It was all for the plot. In this story that never ends, I am finding it hard to pinpoint a beginning. There seems to not be a purpose in any of my endeavors. As the years roll by, everything about me seems to be the same. There is no villain. No call to adventure, no point of growth, no nothing. I am the main character of the story called life.
Though I actually do have pink hair.
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"Never....again", those were the words I managed to say before the crash; and were the first words when I opened my eyes.
Actually, those two words have been in my head the last couple of days. All my life I’ve been a rather unlucky guy: dogs would pee on my shoes, I would drop everything from my pockets, and birds would shit on my hair; all on the same day, every single day. All that changed on Friday night, 3 days ago after having some drinks with my friends. I can’t recall who the idiot was, but one of them dared me to dye my hair a girly pink.
On Saturday morning I woke up in a plane on route to Paris, France. The only things on my pockets were a couple of lighters, a flyer with the text “your adventure starts today”, an empty packet of chips and my wallet with no money. I spent most of the day begging for money, until some thugs started harassing me. While running away from some stray dogs I caused a massive car crash, almost got crushed by a bus, and fell through an open manhole. To top it off, I spend the cold night in the middle of the rain using an old newspaper as an umbrella.
On Sunday I managed to find a branch from my bank, when I tried to get some money from my hold-back account with my broken French I accidentally said I was trying to “heist” my account, which caused everyone to drop to the ground; while trying to apprehend me, the guard hit his head and got knocked out. A couple of minutes later the French police got to the bank, while I tried to escape through a window using the bag of chips as a makeshift mask. Long story short, I ended up running 3 miles, tailed by the police, until I fell right through another exposed manhole.
I spent 2 hours walking through the sewers, until I managed to sneak out. I found some clothes that were hanging on a yard and a stole cap from a distracted guy, got changed and managed to find my way to the airport. I was desperate; after figuring out which plane would take me home I started a fire in an empty bathroom, which caused a lot of confusion, i managed to get to the cargo storage and got myself into a container and managed to board the plane. I’m not sure how much time passed, but at some point everything started shaking, I felt like floating for a while and then came the big crash.
All of this started due to a stupid dare, I spent the 2 worst days of my life stuck in France, and now I’m in an island, in the middle of nowhere. All because I dyed my stupid hair girly pink.
Never…..again.
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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"Hi class, I'm Ms. Peach and I will be your new teacher for the rest of the year. Mr. Mabe has decided to retire."
I looked through the little window in the door to my class room and listened in on the new teacher. She was oddly young and hot (with disturbingly large breasts) for a teacher at this crappy school. What the hell happened to make Mr. Mabe retire? Wasn't he like 40? I was late because I decided to dye my hair bright pink this morning, which took way longer than I thought it would, and didn't get in until second period, I hated social studies anyway.
I opened the door and waited to be yelled at for being late to class. "April, I've moved your assigned seat to be behind Avice."
"Uhhh, what? Okay..." How the hell did she know who I am? I move to the seat in the back of the room next to the window into the back field, I can see the P.E. class running the track.
There's a new girl in the class, she's mousy with glasses, an over-sized coat, and has been staring right at me. The new hair does stand out; I could see Sophia already thinking about how to make fun of it, fuck that bitch. This girl is *really* intensely staring at me, what the hell. I'll just avoid her after class.
---
It's lunch time and I'm in the back field of Osceola High School eating alone on and old abandoned picnic table. I see the mousy girl approaching, "I'm Nancy" she delivers in a flat monotone voice. "Your life is in danger, please come with me."
"I don't even know you. What are you talking about?" I'm a bit weirded out by this girl. She's weird, like the lights are on but nobody's home.
Just then a man appears out of thin air beside us in a flash of blue light. He has a gigantic robot arm and is wearing what I can only think is a Star Trek uniform. "You will never have another Galactic Princess!" He smashes his massive metal fist down, I scream and try to jump out of the way. His fist is caught by Nancy effortlessly. She lifts the man up and throws him across the school yard into the small dirt road behind the field. She leaps 15 yards directly onto him and tears his robotic arm off as he screams bloody murder. The man then blinks out of existence in a flash of blue light, taking his arm and Nancy with him.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" I stand up to run back to the school. Did anyone else see that shit? Oh man, I'm gonna snapchat this table to everyone. Should I call the police? What the hell is happening.
As I'm deciding whether to hit dial on this 911 call, I spot a small metal disc on the ground where Nancy was standing, it's glowing bright white. It begins to flicker and an image pops up above it. It's a cute fluffy round pokemon-thing. "April! I'm RC with the Galactic Magical Girl Network! We have detected that *you*, as of this morning, have a Princess class affinity for magical attunement. Yaaaay!" It does a little dance in its holographic projection. "Would you like to know more? Please select an answer!" It belts all this in an annoyingly cutesy voice.
A little keypad pops up in the air near it with "Yes" and "No" as options. I'm honestly pretty scared about this whole thing, but what's the worst that could happen just knowing more info? I hit the yes key. "Oh, good! We'll be bringing you here for debriefing then!"
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"Never....again", those were the words I managed to say before the crash; and were the first words when I opened my eyes.
Actually, those two words have been in my head the last couple of days. All my life I’ve been a rather unlucky guy: dogs would pee on my shoes, I would drop everything from my pockets, and birds would shit on my hair; all on the same day, every single day. All that changed on Friday night, 3 days ago after having some drinks with my friends. I can’t recall who the idiot was, but one of them dared me to dye my hair a girly pink.
On Saturday morning I woke up in a plane on route to Paris, France. The only things on my pockets were a couple of lighters, a flyer with the text “your adventure starts today”, an empty packet of chips and my wallet with no money. I spent most of the day begging for money, until some thugs started harassing me. While running away from some stray dogs I caused a massive car crash, almost got crushed by a bus, and fell through an open manhole. To top it off, I spend the cold night in the middle of the rain using an old newspaper as an umbrella.
On Sunday I managed to find a branch from my bank, when I tried to get some money from my hold-back account with my broken French I accidentally said I was trying to “heist” my account, which caused everyone to drop to the ground; while trying to apprehend me, the guard hit his head and got knocked out. A couple of minutes later the French police got to the bank, while I tried to escape through a window using the bag of chips as a makeshift mask. Long story short, I ended up running 3 miles, tailed by the police, until I fell right through another exposed manhole.
I spent 2 hours walking through the sewers, until I managed to sneak out. I found some clothes that were hanging on a yard and a stole cap from a distracted guy, got changed and managed to find my way to the airport. I was desperate; after figuring out which plane would take me home I started a fire in an empty bathroom, which caused a lot of confusion, i managed to get to the cargo storage and got myself into a container and managed to board the plane. I’m not sure how much time passed, but at some point everything started shaking, I felt like floating for a while and then came the big crash.
All of this started due to a stupid dare, I spent the 2 worst days of my life stuck in France, and now I’m in an island, in the middle of nowhere. All because I dyed my stupid hair girly pink.
Never…..again.
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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"Hi class, I'm Ms. Peach and I will be your new teacher for the rest of the year. Mr. Mabe has decided to retire."
I looked through the little window in the door to my class room and listened in on the new teacher. She was oddly young and hot (with disturbingly large breasts) for a teacher at this crappy school. What the hell happened to make Mr. Mabe retire? Wasn't he like 40? I was late because I decided to dye my hair bright pink this morning, which took way longer than I thought it would, and didn't get in until second period, I hated social studies anyway.
I opened the door and waited to be yelled at for being late to class. "April, I've moved your assigned seat to be behind Avice."
"Uhhh, what? Okay..." How the hell did she know who I am? I move to the seat in the back of the room next to the window into the back field, I can see the P.E. class running the track.
There's a new girl in the class, she's mousy with glasses, an over-sized coat, and has been staring right at me. The new hair does stand out; I could see Sophia already thinking about how to make fun of it, fuck that bitch. This girl is *really* intensely staring at me, what the hell. I'll just avoid her after class.
---
It's lunch time and I'm in the back field of Osceola High School eating alone on and old abandoned picnic table. I see the mousy girl approaching, "I'm Nancy" she delivers in a flat monotone voice. "Your life is in danger, please come with me."
"I don't even know you. What are you talking about?" I'm a bit weirded out by this girl. She's weird, like the lights are on but nobody's home.
Just then a man appears out of thin air beside us in a flash of blue light. He has a gigantic robot arm and is wearing what I can only think is a Star Trek uniform. "You will never have another Galactic Princess!" He smashes his massive metal fist down, I scream and try to jump out of the way. His fist is caught by Nancy effortlessly. She lifts the man up and throws him across the school yard into the small dirt road behind the field. She leaps 15 yards directly onto him and tears his robotic arm off as he screams bloody murder. The man then blinks out of existence in a flash of blue light, taking his arm and Nancy with him.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" I stand up to run back to the school. Did anyone else see that shit? Oh man, I'm gonna snapchat this table to everyone. Should I call the police? What the hell is happening.
As I'm deciding whether to hit dial on this 911 call, I spot a small metal disc on the ground where Nancy was standing, it's glowing bright white. It begins to flicker and an image pops up above it. It's a cute fluffy round pokemon-thing. "April! I'm RC with the Galactic Magical Girl Network! We have detected that *you*, as of this morning, have a Princess class affinity for magical attunement. Yaaaay!" It does a little dance in its holographic projection. "Would you like to know more? Please select an answer!" It belts all this in an annoyingly cutesy voice.
A little keypad pops up in the air near it with "Yes" and "No" as options. I'm honestly pretty scared about this whole thing, but what's the worst that could happen just knowing more info? I hit the yes key. "Oh, good! We'll be bringing you here for debriefing then!"
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"Just be ready with the radar gun, okay?" I rest the baseball against my hip, occasionally, absentmindedly tossing it and letting it land back in the palm of my hand. "I'm pretty sure this is gonna work."
"Dude, you've never thrown a baseball in your life. What makes you think..."
"I AM THE MAIN CHARACTER!" I wind up and pitch, feeling the ball rocket out of my hand and through the piece of plywood with a makeshift strike zone painted on with the orange spray paint I found in the garage. The plywood breaks. "Did it work?"
"One oh nine."
"That was just my curve ball." I put on my ballcap. "Go Braves?"
"Go Braves."
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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"なにもしたくない。"
What in the hell was this guy saying? I cast a side long glance to the boy sitting next to me and huffed. His name was Tomoya. He was cute, sure, but he spoke in only some sort of Asian language. And his hair was orange as hell. Like a weird orange. Given that he was foreign exchange student with limited friends at my university, I'd been letting him hang out with me. But damn. He was getting on my nerves.
"what?", I snapped. I was cleaning up my dorm, and I had just gestured that he help me clean too. He was here all the damn time anyways, and most of the trash was his. I held up an empty box. "what the hell is pocky anyways? At least share if you're bringing snacks."
"うるさい。" He rolled over on my bed and feigned sleep. Bastard. I rolled my eyes and let him be. Turning over the "pocky" box in my hand, I began to notice my tummy starting to grumble.
Abandoning the headache on my duvet, I checked the contents of my mini fridge. Empty. Looking back at Tomoya, I sighed deeply. Damn jerk is eating me out of house and home. Shaking my head, I began to make a grocery list.
After returning from the store, I plopped my grocery bags onto my desk. While out, I picked up a box of hair dye that was on sale. Looking at the shock of orange hair that poked out of my blankets, I wondered if he had any advice for hair dying. I mean, yea, his hair was unnaturally orange, but it was actually kinda nice. Walking over to my bed side with the box , I prodded him timidly until I had his attention.
"なに", he said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. I guess he really had fallen asleep. I pointed at the box in my hand and drew a line to my hair, hoping he would understand my crude sign language. He cocked an eyebrow. "ええと。。。" He gave me a tepid thumbs up.
Shrugging, I decided to just fuck it. Why not, right?
Following the instructions on the box, I carefully dyed my hair in expectation for a nice change. But something was wrong. The box advertised a nice medium brown, but after a while, my hair began to turn pink. Like pink af. And not the cute pastel kind either. I quickly began rinsing the dye out of my hair, but the damage was done. My hair was the color of bubblegum.
Walking out of the bathroom to my bed, I prodded Tomoya again to see his reaction.
"What the fuck is up with that hair?" he criticized. I began to roll my eyes but stopped mid-way. Wait what. Did he just...?
"You know English?! MOTHERFUCKER. " Anger boiling up inside me, I raised my hand to punch his chest. However, my fist met with a hard surface hovering just in front of him that I hadn't noticed before.
"What the hell? Backwards words? " I looked down at my chest and saw my own words hanging in the air as well. Am I being captioned...?
" I didn't know you could speak Japanese!" Tomoya exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?" I shook my head in confusion. This doesn't make sense. Why would he think I'm speaking Japanese...? My mind raced, attempting to piece this all together.
Captioning; Japanese; pink hair.
Then all at once, it dawned on me.
" くそー!!! "
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"Just be ready with the radar gun, okay?" I rest the baseball against my hip, occasionally, absentmindedly tossing it and letting it land back in the palm of my hand. "I'm pretty sure this is gonna work."
"Dude, you've never thrown a baseball in your life. What makes you think..."
"I AM THE MAIN CHARACTER!" I wind up and pitch, feeling the ball rocket out of my hand and through the piece of plywood with a makeshift strike zone painted on with the orange spray paint I found in the garage. The plywood breaks. "Did it work?"
"One oh nine."
"That was just my curve ball." I put on my ballcap. "Go Braves?"
"Go Braves."
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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"なにもしたくない。"
What in the hell was this guy saying? I cast a side long glance to the boy sitting next to me and huffed. His name was Tomoya. He was cute, sure, but he spoke in only some sort of Asian language. And his hair was orange as hell. Like a weird orange. Given that he was foreign exchange student with limited friends at my university, I'd been letting him hang out with me. But damn. He was getting on my nerves.
"what?", I snapped. I was cleaning up my dorm, and I had just gestured that he help me clean too. He was here all the damn time anyways, and most of the trash was his. I held up an empty box. "what the hell is pocky anyways? At least share if you're bringing snacks."
"うるさい。" He rolled over on my bed and feigned sleep. Bastard. I rolled my eyes and let him be. Turning over the "pocky" box in my hand, I began to notice my tummy starting to grumble.
Abandoning the headache on my duvet, I checked the contents of my mini fridge. Empty. Looking back at Tomoya, I sighed deeply. Damn jerk is eating me out of house and home. Shaking my head, I began to make a grocery list.
After returning from the store, I plopped my grocery bags onto my desk. While out, I picked up a box of hair dye that was on sale. Looking at the shock of orange hair that poked out of my blankets, I wondered if he had any advice for hair dying. I mean, yea, his hair was unnaturally orange, but it was actually kinda nice. Walking over to my bed side with the box , I prodded him timidly until I had his attention.
"なに", he said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. I guess he really had fallen asleep. I pointed at the box in my hand and drew a line to my hair, hoping he would understand my crude sign language. He cocked an eyebrow. "ええと。。。" He gave me a tepid thumbs up.
Shrugging, I decided to just fuck it. Why not, right?
Following the instructions on the box, I carefully dyed my hair in expectation for a nice change. But something was wrong. The box advertised a nice medium brown, but after a while, my hair began to turn pink. Like pink af. And not the cute pastel kind either. I quickly began rinsing the dye out of my hair, but the damage was done. My hair was the color of bubblegum.
Walking out of the bathroom to my bed, I prodded Tomoya again to see his reaction.
"What the fuck is up with that hair?" he criticized. I began to roll my eyes but stopped mid-way. Wait what. Did he just...?
"You know English?! MOTHERFUCKER. " Anger boiling up inside me, I raised my hand to punch his chest. However, my fist met with a hard surface hovering just in front of him that I hadn't noticed before.
"What the hell? Backwards words? " I looked down at my chest and saw my own words hanging in the air as well. Am I being captioned...?
" I didn't know you could speak Japanese!" Tomoya exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?" I shook my head in confusion. This doesn't make sense. Why would he think I'm speaking Japanese...? My mind raced, attempting to piece this all together.
Captioning; Japanese; pink hair.
Then all at once, it dawned on me.
" くそー!!! "
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One day, I decided to dye my hair pink. Not a magenta pink - I'm talking about a real, bubblegum, saccharine looking color that vaguely reminds me of a mix of vomit and a cheerleader with too much makeup on. I had mixed red paint with white paint and dunked my head in it. For some reason, the paint wouldn't wash out of my hair. It was hideous.
In fact, the hair was so hideous that I successfully alienated every single one of my friends. I now have no friends. One of my former friends told me, "I can't be friends with someone with pink hair! You look ridiculous!"
I couldn't argue with that logic. I, indeed, did look quite ridiculous.
In fact, after a few weeks, no one would talk to me. I would go to school and the teachers wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. During roll call, the teacher would skip over my name. I had been erased from existence. I even drew a giant penis on the board with chalk, but no one even bothered to stop me. The very next day, Sarah, the girl who sat in front of me, asked, "Why is there a giant penis on the board?" No one responded to her, and the teacher promptly erased the big penis from the board. And that was the end of that.
I tried really hard to influence the world around me once I discovered that my pink hair and I were slowly slipping out of the planes of existence. I started out by tripping people in the halls and screaming wildly, but I couldn't draw even the slightest attention to myself. I soon began punching and kicking people. There was one kid I especially hated, Mark. I sucker punched mark while he was eating his Turkey Club at lunch.
He said "Ow," and continued to eat his sandwich with a black eye.
After a while I gave up. My parents ignored me. My sister ignored me. The cashier at the grocery store ignored me.
I stole a bag of BBQ chips from the store and sat on the curb. I didn't eat the chips; instead, I fed them to the birds. Turns out pigeons don't like BBQ flavor. I think it has something to do with the spices.
As I reached for the last of the chips, I began to feel a dizzying sensation. I felt like I was on a carousel, except that that the carousel was spinning at a rate at which one would be dizzy on a carousel. For comparison, normal carousels are for children, and generally are pretty tame in terms of how fast they spin.
My appendages began to bleed, except the blood was as black as a Wesley Snipes in the dark. Everyone else was becoming flat and unremarkable I could feel myself flattening. I became paralyzed. My eyes became really big and unnatural. My hair was the only thing that stayed the same.
Before I could even perform another action, I found myself trapped in time between two pages. There was only one thing I knew for sure: my name was Onohara, Yasunobu! And I am ready to fight the six demons of hell with my radioactive, pink hair, the source of all my power!
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So I wanted to try something new and write an origin for my Yasunobu character in my upcoming manga I wrote called Onohara Yasunobu and his Pink Hair of Wrath! Please check it out when it gets released!
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[WP] Odd things have been happening ever since you died your hair pink. You always seem to be either supernaturally lucky, or doomed to fail spectacularly. No matter what the outcome, you are always ok. You have become a Main Character.
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I sat on a rooftop, my feet dangling over the edge. That's what they always did, right?
Ever since my hair went pink, things were never the same. People coming up to me, telling me I'm some sort of long-lost important person/weapon/saviour/offspring born with magical powers/vampire/werewolf/the Chosen One, the such. The weirdest part? People don't even look at me weird. It's like a guy with bright pink hair walking down the street has become the norm. My theory is that I've been transported into an alternate universe where an anime plot is happening, and I'm the Protag.
Now, I'm no Weeb Lord Extraordinaire, but I've seen my fair share of anime, movies and books, and I know how the plot will go. This is the one reassuring thing I'm still clinging onto: knowing that my predictions were always true.
First, my parents. They died. Probably not my real parents, so I'm fine. Sad, a bit. Devastated, no.
Second, my sudden increase in Luck. It's like I've went ahead and hacked the system, giving myself unlimited Luck stats. Yesterday a gang war erupted on the street I was walking on, and I ducked for cover. I ended up saving one of the guys who were shot in the leg, who turned out to be a second-in-command. Needless to say, I'm a pretty protected individual now.
Third, the people. In my two weeks of being in this universe, I have encountered one hundred and twenty-one people and creatures and spirits and whatnot, each proclaiming I'm some sort of long-lost prince/vampire/secret biological weapon created on a distant planet/important guy born with powers/The Chosen One/what the fuck ever. I've turned all of them down.
Fourth, my powers. I seemed to be a master of electricity now, being able to bend it to my will. Also on the ever-growing list are: telekinesis, telepathy, elemental control, flight, invisibility, shape-shifting, whatnot. With great power does not come great responsibility, it comes with great annoyance of constantly being pestered for help - for the most trivial of things. "Sir - my cat is in the tree." "Dude - my car broke down!" "Hey, can you get me the test answers?" No, no, and no! Thankfully, no one seems to notice me as a superhero of sorts - anime logic and a bit of shapeshifting really helped.
Fifth, sudden attention from girls. While this is certainly nice, since day one I've concluded: this will be a huge obstacle in my future endeavours. The girls are literally falling over themselves trying to get to me: the chatty-but-beautiful ones, the busty-but-cute ones, the pretty-but-bitchy-and-shows-potential-symptoms-of-being-a-Tsundere ones... the list goes on farther than my powers.
Sixth, my inevitable downfall. No wonder I'll be captured/killed at some point in my storyline, or one of my accomplices will, and my ethics would drive me to save them, and suffer at the hands on the enemies, no matter who they are. And given the amount of people I've turned away, I'd say I have a lot of enemies.
The future looks grim, but I smile in its face and told it to go fuck itself.
Because I think my daily push-ups, sit-ups, squats and long runs are paying off.
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One day, I decided to dye my hair pink. Not a magenta pink - I'm talking about a real, bubblegum, saccharine looking color that vaguely reminds me of a mix of vomit and a cheerleader with too much makeup on. I had mixed red paint with white paint and dunked my head in it. For some reason, the paint wouldn't wash out of my hair. It was hideous.
In fact, the hair was so hideous that I successfully alienated every single one of my friends. I now have no friends. One of my former friends told me, "I can't be friends with someone with pink hair! You look ridiculous!"
I couldn't argue with that logic. I, indeed, did look quite ridiculous.
In fact, after a few weeks, no one would talk to me. I would go to school and the teachers wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. During roll call, the teacher would skip over my name. I had been erased from existence. I even drew a giant penis on the board with chalk, but no one even bothered to stop me. The very next day, Sarah, the girl who sat in front of me, asked, "Why is there a giant penis on the board?" No one responded to her, and the teacher promptly erased the big penis from the board. And that was the end of that.
I tried really hard to influence the world around me once I discovered that my pink hair and I were slowly slipping out of the planes of existence. I started out by tripping people in the halls and screaming wildly, but I couldn't draw even the slightest attention to myself. I soon began punching and kicking people. There was one kid I especially hated, Mark. I sucker punched mark while he was eating his Turkey Club at lunch.
He said "Ow," and continued to eat his sandwich with a black eye.
After a while I gave up. My parents ignored me. My sister ignored me. The cashier at the grocery store ignored me.
I stole a bag of BBQ chips from the store and sat on the curb. I didn't eat the chips; instead, I fed them to the birds. Turns out pigeons don't like BBQ flavor. I think it has something to do with the spices.
As I reached for the last of the chips, I began to feel a dizzying sensation. I felt like I was on a carousel, except that that the carousel was spinning at a rate at which one would be dizzy on a carousel. For comparison, normal carousels are for children, and generally are pretty tame in terms of how fast they spin.
My appendages began to bleed, except the blood was as black as a Wesley Snipes in the dark. Everyone else was becoming flat and unremarkable I could feel myself flattening. I became paralyzed. My eyes became really big and unnatural. My hair was the only thing that stayed the same.
Before I could even perform another action, I found myself trapped in time between two pages. There was only one thing I knew for sure: my name was Onohara, Yasunobu! And I am ready to fight the six demons of hell with my radioactive, pink hair, the source of all my power!
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So I wanted to try something new and write an origin for my Yasunobu character in my upcoming manga I wrote called Onohara Yasunobu and his Pink Hair of Wrath! Please check it out when it gets released!
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[WP] You're the trusted angel God left in charge for 2016 while he went on vacation. He's returned early and you have some explaining to do.
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"I... I... I... can explain!"
"What do you have to explain?" God looked at the archangel Adam, who appeared as little more than a puddle before Him.
"The humans have apparently all gone mad. Are you not upset with me?"
"Not in the slightest," God replied as Adam composed himself, "you know, there's a reason I took this little sabbatical. As bad as it sounds to say, I'd grown tired of watching over the humans. Their faith has steadily decreased for some time and they've angered me in ways I don't expect you to understand.
"So what brings you back?"
"Well, even while away I have heard the stories of this 'Trump' fellow. Hearing about him and seeing what all the other humans have been up to while I was gone got me thinking. I've failed them, I left them perhaps when they need me most, it only makes sense they would be acting out. Not to mention I've felt terribly bored and lonely while I've been gone. As it turns out, being 'God' over nothing isn't such a great way to be after all."
"So you're back for good?" Adam asked, with palpable hope in his voice.
"Sure am," Jehovah responded confidently. "Thank you for your service in my absence, you've done an admirable job given the circumstances. Now I only hope I can throw all this back together before this 'climate change' those humans have got going *really* kicks in.
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God floated back into the control room and looked at the screen. 'hmmm now what is all this about? I thought I told you to not interfere with them. they are old enough to make their own decisions. '
I looked at the screen and turned my attention to the presence. ' But.'
' No but, they are apparently smarter then you, so change it back. '
I was confused why would he let him win the election and as soon as I said it he pointed at the future predictions. War, disasters, growing hate and panic. Stagnation and in the end doom.
'They are better when they have something to focus on, they always has. Give them a goal and they will work towards it. try to press them down and they will stand up, try to make them hate and they will show you love, try to stop them and they will move. But if you take away hope of change then they will fall down and give up. they will take any change and try to make it better. You just took that away from them. Reset it all back to when he wins. Ohh but I like this one. ' The presence we call God turned to his son. ' I'm really looking forward to the concert tonight. I always liked the original.'
And with that they where gone, the room felt so empty and I felt like all joy had drained out of me, then he whispers in my ear. ' dont worry we all make mistakes, that's why we have the reset button'
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[WP] You're the trusted angel God left in charge for 2016 while he went on vacation. He's returned early and you have some explaining to do.
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He sat with his head in his hands. One party. One party was all it took for the world to go to shit.
The elevator angels hadn't really asked to many questions until he asked for Prince. By now, anyone in any mansion in the kingdom knew that he was dead. Humans had always used a phrase to contradict the Lord's power. "Can God make a rock so big that he can't move it?" Well, in a similar vein, could he kill something so hard that it died again?
It could have an answer soon. Soon cosmilogically at least. There was still a month and a half to scrape together something good. He had hoped that Duterte had taken something more away than not cursing but, at this point he was willing to take even the smallest of graces.
It had all started with David Bowie. Sure it was high profile, but cancer doesn't care. At least it looked like cancer. Humans weren't the wiser, and he had a front liner for the party of the millennia.
He groaned, pulling on his halo. At this point the stress was making his plumage to get sparse.
Except Bowie considered it a retirement. Once he got past the pearly gates, he went straight to the mansion for a siesta and wasn't even seen again until April when word of the United States primaries were going around.
He got up and paced around the room. The cloud-woven cotton felt like it was tightening on his whole body instead of hanging loose like a robe should. His head thundered against the wall, surely sending more than a few bolts down to Earth's surface. He slammed his head again and again.
When he had gotten drunk on wisp-ale was one of the bigger mistakes (never mind it happened less than a week after he signed for Bowie's appearance). He promised himself he would never touch it again- but he was only human (or at some point was). He didn't realize the next time he got drunk on it, he'd be signing a requisitions for both Alan Rickman AND Prince. AND PRINCE! He didn't even like Prince!!!
Thank the Lord there was someone in Requisitions that knew how to space these things out. He tried to cry a little but sorrow was impossible in the kingdom of heaven. Dread was still allowed because there was the whole "God-fearing" thing.
Rickman did a small show, but didn't want anything big for his introduction into the eternal lands of respite. By the time Prince got to the gates the party had gone from scheduled to TBD 5 or 6 times and half the guests had gone home.
Whilst he was fighting to keep this party alive Satan (because only Satan could be laughing about it) somehow managed to find the two worst politicians possible to run for the US presidency. God would've LOVED Sanders (even if he already did because of the whole Jewish promise thing) but the Primaries just went so fast while he was ordering the catering (he briefly remembered how he had thought to call up Bobby Flay or something).
Then there were the Earthquakes, Civil war, Star Trek jokes (he finally had decided to beam Scotty up permanently), Gorillas, ISIL, Drought, Humans UNCONVINCING THEMSELVES ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING, the list went on and on and on and on.
Somewhere in here the party had actually gotten a jump start when both Bowie and Rickman had shown up at the same place at the same time. That was about mid-august by Earth schedule.
But the nail in the coffin had been when he was trying to impress Angela. They had been watching the world series when he decided to make an order for a Cub's win in game 7.
He screamed. Oh holy feathers on a roasted demon ass crack! That one thing was God's favorite joke. It had been for almost a century now.
There was still a month and a half before the Lord got back from touring the Andromeda galaxy for the first time this century.
There came a knock at the door.
"Michael, I know you're in there. We need to talk."
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God floated back into the control room and looked at the screen. 'hmmm now what is all this about? I thought I told you to not interfere with them. they are old enough to make their own decisions. '
I looked at the screen and turned my attention to the presence. ' But.'
' No but, they are apparently smarter then you, so change it back. '
I was confused why would he let him win the election and as soon as I said it he pointed at the future predictions. War, disasters, growing hate and panic. Stagnation and in the end doom.
'They are better when they have something to focus on, they always has. Give them a goal and they will work towards it. try to press them down and they will stand up, try to make them hate and they will show you love, try to stop them and they will move. But if you take away hope of change then they will fall down and give up. they will take any change and try to make it better. You just took that away from them. Reset it all back to when he wins. Ohh but I like this one. ' The presence we call God turned to his son. ' I'm really looking forward to the concert tonight. I always liked the original.'
And with that they where gone, the room felt so empty and I felt like all joy had drained out of me, then he whispers in my ear. ' dont worry we all make mistakes, that's why we have the reset button'
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[WP] You're the trusted angel God left in charge for 2016 while he went on vacation. He's returned early and you have some explaining to do.
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I was basking in the eternal sunlight when I heard footsteps. The moment I realized they were his footsteps was the moment I realized I was royally f*cked. As the things I had neglected began rushing through my head, I shot out of my lounging chair and stood erect in front of his highness.
"H-h-home ea-early?" I studdered at him, searching him for any sign of what he knew.
"Jesus couldn't take the Indian Food." He responded.
"It burnt like hellfire goin' through!" A voice commented from another room. Then the almighty Jesus made his grand entrance. Brilliant. They were both here.
"How has earth been holding up?" God asked.
"W-wonderful, ya know?" I responded. I was dead the moment he realized a single thing that happened during 2016.
Then he asked: "Election going smoothly?"
"It wasn't too bad; i just--" I never got to finish. I heard Jesus flipping on the TV, and my life flashed before my eyes. The first thing to be heard were the words "President-elect Donald Trump". The second was a cup, falling from the hands of the Lord, onto the floor, and shattering. God shot up from the table before I had a chance to explain. I followed him into the living room as he grabbed the remote from Jesus. The channels got progressively worse, showing everything from bottle flipping, to rambling hillbillies who know that Trump is our new lord and savior. As he flipped through channels, my phone rang.
I struggled to turn it off before the ringtone got to "pineapple pen..." Jesus appeared to be rocking out to the catchy tune, but God wasn't amused.
"Jesus Christ..." He shot at him
"Sorry dad," He responded.
Then God turned to look at me.
"You mean you actually gave them freedom of choice?" He asked.
"Wasn't I supposed to? " I replied.
"Hell no! Humans need guidance. In everything." He answered. "How much did you actually do this year?"
I knew he could read my mind, so lying was pointless. "Barely anyth--"
**"GOD DAMN YOU"**
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That would explain a lot..." Lucifer responded, before handing me my certificate of damnation. "Anyhow, Enjoy your stay!"
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God floated back into the control room and looked at the screen. 'hmmm now what is all this about? I thought I told you to not interfere with them. they are old enough to make their own decisions. '
I looked at the screen and turned my attention to the presence. ' But.'
' No but, they are apparently smarter then you, so change it back. '
I was confused why would he let him win the election and as soon as I said it he pointed at the future predictions. War, disasters, growing hate and panic. Stagnation and in the end doom.
'They are better when they have something to focus on, they always has. Give them a goal and they will work towards it. try to press them down and they will stand up, try to make them hate and they will show you love, try to stop them and they will move. But if you take away hope of change then they will fall down and give up. they will take any change and try to make it better. You just took that away from them. Reset it all back to when he wins. Ohh but I like this one. ' The presence we call God turned to his son. ' I'm really looking forward to the concert tonight. I always liked the original.'
And with that they where gone, the room felt so empty and I felt like all joy had drained out of me, then he whispers in my ear. ' dont worry we all make mistakes, that's why we have the reset button'
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[WP] You're the trusted angel God left in charge for 2016 while he went on vacation. He's returned early and you have some explaining to do.
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He sat with his head in his hands. One party. One party was all it took for the world to go to shit.
The elevator angels hadn't really asked to many questions until he asked for Prince. By now, anyone in any mansion in the kingdom knew that he was dead. Humans had always used a phrase to contradict the Lord's power. "Can God make a rock so big that he can't move it?" Well, in a similar vein, could he kill something so hard that it died again?
It could have an answer soon. Soon cosmilogically at least. There was still a month and a half to scrape together something good. He had hoped that Duterte had taken something more away than not cursing but, at this point he was willing to take even the smallest of graces.
It had all started with David Bowie. Sure it was high profile, but cancer doesn't care. At least it looked like cancer. Humans weren't the wiser, and he had a front liner for the party of the millennia.
He groaned, pulling on his halo. At this point the stress was making his plumage to get sparse.
Except Bowie considered it a retirement. Once he got past the pearly gates, he went straight to the mansion for a siesta and wasn't even seen again until April when word of the United States primaries were going around.
He got up and paced around the room. The cloud-woven cotton felt like it was tightening on his whole body instead of hanging loose like a robe should. His head thundered against the wall, surely sending more than a few bolts down to Earth's surface. He slammed his head again and again.
When he had gotten drunk on wisp-ale was one of the bigger mistakes (never mind it happened less than a week after he signed for Bowie's appearance). He promised himself he would never touch it again- but he was only human (or at some point was). He didn't realize the next time he got drunk on it, he'd be signing a requisitions for both Alan Rickman AND Prince. AND PRINCE! He didn't even like Prince!!!
Thank the Lord there was someone in Requisitions that knew how to space these things out. He tried to cry a little but sorrow was impossible in the kingdom of heaven. Dread was still allowed because there was the whole "God-fearing" thing.
Rickman did a small show, but didn't want anything big for his introduction into the eternal lands of respite. By the time Prince got to the gates the party had gone from scheduled to TBD 5 or 6 times and half the guests had gone home.
Whilst he was fighting to keep this party alive Satan (because only Satan could be laughing about it) somehow managed to find the two worst politicians possible to run for the US presidency. God would've LOVED Sanders (even if he already did because of the whole Jewish promise thing) but the Primaries just went so fast while he was ordering the catering (he briefly remembered how he had thought to call up Bobby Flay or something).
Then there were the Earthquakes, Civil war, Star Trek jokes (he finally had decided to beam Scotty up permanently), Gorillas, ISIL, Drought, Humans UNCONVINCING THEMSELVES ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING, the list went on and on and on and on.
Somewhere in here the party had actually gotten a jump start when both Bowie and Rickman had shown up at the same place at the same time. That was about mid-august by Earth schedule.
But the nail in the coffin had been when he was trying to impress Angela. They had been watching the world series when he decided to make an order for a Cub's win in game 7.
He screamed. Oh holy feathers on a roasted demon ass crack! That one thing was God's favorite joke. It had been for almost a century now.
There was still a month and a half before the Lord got back from touring the Andromeda galaxy for the first time this century.
There came a knock at the door.
"Michael, I know you're in there. We need to talk."
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"I... I... I... can explain!"
"What do you have to explain?" God looked at the archangel Adam, who appeared as little more than a puddle before Him.
"The humans have apparently all gone mad. Are you not upset with me?"
"Not in the slightest," God replied as Adam composed himself, "you know, there's a reason I took this little sabbatical. As bad as it sounds to say, I'd grown tired of watching over the humans. Their faith has steadily decreased for some time and they've angered me in ways I don't expect you to understand.
"So what brings you back?"
"Well, even while away I have heard the stories of this 'Trump' fellow. Hearing about him and seeing what all the other humans have been up to while I was gone got me thinking. I've failed them, I left them perhaps when they need me most, it only makes sense they would be acting out. Not to mention I've felt terribly bored and lonely while I've been gone. As it turns out, being 'God' over nothing isn't such a great way to be after all."
"So you're back for good?" Adam asked, with palpable hope in his voice.
"Sure am," Jehovah responded confidently. "Thank you for your service in my absence, you've done an admirable job given the circumstances. Now I only hope I can throw all this back together before this 'climate change' those humans have got going *really* kicks in.
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[WP] You're the trusted angel God left in charge for 2016 while he went on vacation. He's returned early and you have some explaining to do.
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I was basking in the eternal sunlight when I heard footsteps. The moment I realized they were his footsteps was the moment I realized I was royally f*cked. As the things I had neglected began rushing through my head, I shot out of my lounging chair and stood erect in front of his highness.
"H-h-home ea-early?" I studdered at him, searching him for any sign of what he knew.
"Jesus couldn't take the Indian Food." He responded.
"It burnt like hellfire goin' through!" A voice commented from another room. Then the almighty Jesus made his grand entrance. Brilliant. They were both here.
"How has earth been holding up?" God asked.
"W-wonderful, ya know?" I responded. I was dead the moment he realized a single thing that happened during 2016.
Then he asked: "Election going smoothly?"
"It wasn't too bad; i just--" I never got to finish. I heard Jesus flipping on the TV, and my life flashed before my eyes. The first thing to be heard were the words "President-elect Donald Trump". The second was a cup, falling from the hands of the Lord, onto the floor, and shattering. God shot up from the table before I had a chance to explain. I followed him into the living room as he grabbed the remote from Jesus. The channels got progressively worse, showing everything from bottle flipping, to rambling hillbillies who know that Trump is our new lord and savior. As he flipped through channels, my phone rang.
I struggled to turn it off before the ringtone got to "pineapple pen..." Jesus appeared to be rocking out to the catchy tune, but God wasn't amused.
"Jesus Christ..." He shot at him
"Sorry dad," He responded.
Then God turned to look at me.
"You mean you actually gave them freedom of choice?" He asked.
"Wasn't I supposed to? " I replied.
"Hell no! Humans need guidance. In everything." He answered. "How much did you actually do this year?"
I knew he could read my mind, so lying was pointless. "Barely anyth--"
**"GOD DAMN YOU"**
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That would explain a lot..." Lucifer responded, before handing me my certificate of damnation. "Anyhow, Enjoy your stay!"
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"I... I... I... can explain!"
"What do you have to explain?" God looked at the archangel Adam, who appeared as little more than a puddle before Him.
"The humans have apparently all gone mad. Are you not upset with me?"
"Not in the slightest," God replied as Adam composed himself, "you know, there's a reason I took this little sabbatical. As bad as it sounds to say, I'd grown tired of watching over the humans. Their faith has steadily decreased for some time and they've angered me in ways I don't expect you to understand.
"So what brings you back?"
"Well, even while away I have heard the stories of this 'Trump' fellow. Hearing about him and seeing what all the other humans have been up to while I was gone got me thinking. I've failed them, I left them perhaps when they need me most, it only makes sense they would be acting out. Not to mention I've felt terribly bored and lonely while I've been gone. As it turns out, being 'God' over nothing isn't such a great way to be after all."
"So you're back for good?" Adam asked, with palpable hope in his voice.
"Sure am," Jehovah responded confidently. "Thank you for your service in my absence, you've done an admirable job given the circumstances. Now I only hope I can throw all this back together before this 'climate change' those humans have got going *really* kicks in.
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[WP] In the year 2187, scientists have found a way for people to transfer, or give others their fears if both people accept. You are paid to take other people's fears.
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"I mean how bad can that really be?" I thought to myself, pondering if I was willing to accept this contract.
"6 billion credits will be enough for me to buy anything I wanted, hell, I could buy my own island and pass the time sitting on my own private beach." In this day and age most people don't even get to see a beach what with the polition and all.
My inner dialouge had ended. Enough thinking about it, I stared the well dressed man in the eyes. "6 billion credits?" I asked to confirmed. "Is it not enough? 7-8 whatever just.... please I can't do it anymore."
"2 billion credits just for asking a question? Now I am definetly doing this." I thought before extending my hand. "You have yourself a deal!"
The contract was signed, it was done. As they began to hook the machines up I started thinking of all the things I wanted to buy first. The doctor told me to count backwards from 8 and the anesthetic would take effect. "Fitting number" I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
Waking up I felt..... different.....hollow. All of my thoughts terrified me. What I once dreamed about spending the money on riddled me with guilt. Absolutley everything about myself I hated. I finally understood why he gave me this money, and why he didn't care giving it to me. I was also begining to understand where this fear came from. "I'm sorry" he looked at me one final time. "The fear of yourself is something you never get used to, I never used to be this way, I just hope you can find someone to take this from you before it takes full hold."
He left the room as I stared until the last piece of his coat was visible. I wasnt the first person he had done this too, and I won't be the last. For him this was just a temporary relief at a hefty price. He was the CEO of the largest company on the planet, and as it turns out, the only thing his never ending revenue couldn't buy was self forgiveness for how he earned it.
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Dr. Rembar slapped the metal cap onto Harold's head and began to turn the screws. Harold only felt a slight pressure, as Dr. Rembar had warned, as the screws pierced his temples.
"Is the process normally this invasive?" Harold asked numbly. Something was making his tongue feel swollen, and he was having trouble enunciating properly.
Dr. Rembar lowered his head to look Harold in the eyes.
"Normal?" The doctor said. "My God, man. What made you expect something normal?" He stood straight again and finished screwing the cap into Harold's head then grabbed the mess of wires coming from the cap and started jamming them into a panel on the wall. Harold stared into the screen across the room from him where his bio and brain activity sprang up.
Harold Scott
Age: 33
Height: 6' 1''
Weight: 86 kilograms
Conviction: Murder of the first degree
Year sentenced: 2177
Mental Health: Fit for imprint.
He didn't understand the rolling wave pattern that was supposed to represent his brain activity, but it looked a little too... wonky to him. Sort of unevenly spaced and maybe a little slower than it should be.
"Doctor, I think something is wrong." The words came out in a groggy croak like Harold had just woken up from a deep sleep.
"Something is always wrong. That's what we're trying to fix." Something crackled behind Harold, and he was almost positive it was the sound of sparks bursting out of the panel.
"Could you just look at this screen and make sure?" Harold asked.
The sparks and grunting behind Harold stopped suddenly.
"Look at the what?" The doctors voice became low and raspy.
"The screen. My brain readout looks weird."
A screwdriver flew against the wall right next to the screen.
"This isn't normal, this other thing is weird," the doctor mocked. "What to do you know about weird? You drowned someone in a toilet bowl."
He stormed over to the desk on the other side of the room and picked up a file. A paper file, Harold couldn't help noticing. Harold hadn't seen paper since summer camp in 65.
"What the hell am I supposed to give you again?" Dr. Rembar ran his finger down the paper. His head shook while he read, and he held the file close to his face, completely blocking his vision of the screen where it clearly read 'Loaded Imprint: Heliophobia.'
Dr. Rembar slammed the paper down. "Fear of light!" He yelled. "Damned inconvenient for a politician."
He walked up to one of the sealed doors leading to the other operating room, where presumably, hopefully, the other person was hooked up to the same system.
"He's pale too. Looks like someone off one of the lunar cities. There's some kind kind of symbolism for you!"
"Oh my God, he's mad,' Harold thought. 'A mad scientist just screwed a metal cap to my head and hooked me up to the prison power grid.'
The wave form showing Harold's brain activity sped up while Dr. Rembar walked to Harold's chair. He reached under into the tangle of wires looping around the base. Harold didn't know this many wires still existed on this planet. The doctor yanked one of them loose then took something out of his pocket that looked almost like a syringe but with one end made to plug into an outlet. Dr. Rembar stripped the insulation off the wire and wrapped it around the bottom of the syringe.
"Let's just add a little more to the load, yeah?" The doctor circled the syringe toward his forehead like he was searching for the right spot then suddenly stabbed it through just above his right right eye.
"Look at the screen over there, Mr. Scott, and tell me if something else appears."
Harold focused on the screen, but his vision was getting blurry. He could just make out the new word that appeared under 'Loaded Imprint."
"What is digiphobia?"
Dr. Rembar picked up two loose connectors lying on the ground and brought them close.
"It's your problem now."
He jammed the connectors together. Sparks shot out of the wall panel again, and Harold's brain readout turned into a tidal wave. Numbers flew by at a blistering speed and it seemed like all the symbols on the screen were making his heart rate increase. If they kept going he would surely have a heart attack. He looked away from the computer screen and found one of the lights in the roof. A horrible, cold blinking thing that was trying to suck all the sight out of his eyes. The heart rate bottomed out, and his vision blurred and finally went dark.
Dr. Rembar stood up and carefully pulled the syringe out of his head, letting a drop of blood crawl into his eyebrow. When he saw Harold wasn't moving he grabbed his arm to check his pulse. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at the computer screen.
He felt nothing.
The doctor smiled as he walked to screen and scrolled through the history of the brain read out.
"Looks like you were right, Harold. Something was weird. Those idiots in prep wouldn't know a healthy brain from a well-baked potato."
He walked to the sealed door and looked through the window.
"Well, it looks like the other patient survived, so I guess it all turned out alright."
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
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"David's home is 12.53 miles away from the lake and 16.73 miles away from his school. How far is David's school from the lake?"
This is homework for my ten-year-old, 5th grader daughter.
I'm not bitching about word problems, I've no issue with them. If you're not seeing the issue, read it again. I'll wait.
Figured it out? Yeah. So... is the lake between David's house and the school, or are they opposite directions from his house? Or is David's house the right angle from which they branch? Or is it possible they are their stated difference in any of the other myriad possibilities?
See, I don't want to be a dick about this, but it's seriously a dumb fucking question. When my daughter comes to me for help with her homework, I want to be able to help but accept the possibility that I may very well be unfamiliar with the material. Hell, maybe I might learn something.
This isn't a question of my being familiar with the material, though. I'm great with math and word problems were always my forte. I am saying two things confidently: 1. This is a dumb motherfucking question. 2. Whoever wrote this question is profoundly incompetent.
We're talking about developing brains, here. All her teachers say she's bright, but I've personally witnessed my daughter being a total dumbass on multiple occasions. It doesn't mean she actually *is* a dumbass, it just means she can be - all children can be. I mean, play peek-a-boo with a fucking baby and see how it plays out. There's all kinds of simple shit kids won't get merely because their brains aren't developed to that point yet. They're still growing and this shit takes time.
So, acknowledging all this.. what kind of dumb motherfucker designs a question like this for a kid in this age range/academic group? I know. You want to know? I'll tell you! The dumbest kind of motherfucker. Why? Because whoever wrote this problem thinks it's clearly written. It's not. Painfully not. But they think it is because their brain is only seeing one angle of the problem and therefore they're assuming their problem only has one angle.
This isn't some random question - it's part of the curriculum. So let's see... If this workbook is used throughout the district for fifth grade math education... fifth grade is part of elementary schools (which go up to sixth in our district)... and our district is home to 28 elementary schools averaging 500 students per school... That's an average of 71 kids per 5th grade per school, which means 1,988 5th graders in the district with this math book, and this math book is $150 a pop, so...
$298,200 for this textbook, for our district alone. With this dumb motherfucking question in it. The fucker who wrote this question has *been paid* for their incompetence, and handsomely, too!
What really pisses me off, though, are all the kids reading this question in their homework packet and trying to figure it out, thinking *they're* the ones missing something. We're raising our kids to respect authority at the expense of common sense. My daughter came to me for help with this question and she actually expected me to reveal some hidden meaning in this and make it all make sense. What a shock to discover you're brighter than the people trying to teach you! Not always, but sometimes - and that's what makes it all so confusing.
So here sits the homework packet returned to me after grading. With my help we settled on the answer "20.9 *or* 29.26 *or* 4.2 *or* something else". And the worst part? It isn't marked "correct" or "incorrect". It's merely marked "completed".
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This fucking calculator is the worst POS I've ever seen. First of all, I had to buy a "dumb calculator" for chemistry class, which sucks because I already have three TI-84s. Secondly, this shitty fucking calculator has no arrow keys, so if you miss one number, you have to start ALL OVER. Worst of all, this fucking cuntulator doesn't know order of operations. If I want to do 6+3*4 I have to do stop, write the value out, in this case 6, do the other math (3*4) and then go BACK AND ADD THE FUCKING NUMBERS IN. Also, there's only 10 digits on the display. Anything beyond that gets deleted! If something is *10^-9, then only ONE SIGNIFICANT FIGURE GETS SAVED. THIS IS HORSESHIT!
Fuck!
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
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"David's home is 12.53 miles away from the lake and 16.73 miles away from his school. How far is David's school from the lake?"
This is homework for my ten-year-old, 5th grader daughter.
I'm not bitching about word problems, I've no issue with them. If you're not seeing the issue, read it again. I'll wait.
Figured it out? Yeah. So... is the lake between David's house and the school, or are they opposite directions from his house? Or is David's house the right angle from which they branch? Or is it possible they are their stated difference in any of the other myriad possibilities?
See, I don't want to be a dick about this, but it's seriously a dumb fucking question. When my daughter comes to me for help with her homework, I want to be able to help but accept the possibility that I may very well be unfamiliar with the material. Hell, maybe I might learn something.
This isn't a question of my being familiar with the material, though. I'm great with math and word problems were always my forte. I am saying two things confidently: 1. This is a dumb motherfucking question. 2. Whoever wrote this question is profoundly incompetent.
We're talking about developing brains, here. All her teachers say she's bright, but I've personally witnessed my daughter being a total dumbass on multiple occasions. It doesn't mean she actually *is* a dumbass, it just means she can be - all children can be. I mean, play peek-a-boo with a fucking baby and see how it plays out. There's all kinds of simple shit kids won't get merely because their brains aren't developed to that point yet. They're still growing and this shit takes time.
So, acknowledging all this.. what kind of dumb motherfucker designs a question like this for a kid in this age range/academic group? I know. You want to know? I'll tell you! The dumbest kind of motherfucker. Why? Because whoever wrote this problem thinks it's clearly written. It's not. Painfully not. But they think it is because their brain is only seeing one angle of the problem and therefore they're assuming their problem only has one angle.
This isn't some random question - it's part of the curriculum. So let's see... If this workbook is used throughout the district for fifth grade math education... fifth grade is part of elementary schools (which go up to sixth in our district)... and our district is home to 28 elementary schools averaging 500 students per school... That's an average of 71 kids per 5th grade per school, which means 1,988 5th graders in the district with this math book, and this math book is $150 a pop, so...
$298,200 for this textbook, for our district alone. With this dumb motherfucking question in it. The fucker who wrote this question has *been paid* for their incompetence, and handsomely, too!
What really pisses me off, though, are all the kids reading this question in their homework packet and trying to figure it out, thinking *they're* the ones missing something. We're raising our kids to respect authority at the expense of common sense. My daughter came to me for help with this question and she actually expected me to reveal some hidden meaning in this and make it all make sense. What a shock to discover you're brighter than the people trying to teach you! Not always, but sometimes - and that's what makes it all so confusing.
So here sits the homework packet returned to me after grading. With my help we settled on the answer "20.9 *or* 29.26 *or* 4.2 *or* something else". And the worst part? It isn't marked "correct" or "incorrect". It's merely marked "completed".
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I never liked ACs to begin with. They're bulky, loud and they need to be changed every week.
Like some fucki'n freeloading little shit that doesn't even pay rent.
Seriously- he just sits on his ass all day and plays Call of Duty. Do you KNOW how many times a day I hear "I'M OUT OF CHEESE PUFFS" and I have to go to the store for that little selfish dickweed?
If you guessed several times, you're right.
Let's not even talk about the fact that he uses an excuse to stay in the household almost every day. "Oooooohhh look at me, I keep you cold in the hot summer days." **Big deal.**
Y'know what else keeps me cold? ICE! And that shit's *free* when you got a freezer. It's just another stupid ass piece of technology trying to stay relevant.
Never you mind the truckton of cash I save per year while keeping this freeloading son of a bitch here.
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
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Who the fuck does this piece of plastic dogshit think it is? First, I welcome it lovingly into my house, all fuckin "so glad you're here" and "this is all I wanted for christmas" and all that bullshit. Makin me look like a goddamn moron for thinkin I would enjoy myself around it. Second, when I try to use it, it's all, "sorry, you gotta fuckin update the shit, man." Like, what the fuck dude, I paid 300 dollars for you to be here and now you're fuckin tellin me I can't sit down and play Fallout 4 and have a good time with my friends and shit? Alright. Cool. Fuckin A-okay. I'll bring you over to my parent's house, where the internet can actually cooperate with your bitch-ass. So, the update is done. I've driven another half hour home. And now, you're telling me youneed an update for your controller? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, DUDE? I'm sorry, I don't mean to yell, but now you're fuckin tellin me to update the headset. The fuckin headset. I've owned it for four days now and have literally seen nothing but download bars and "go fuck yourself, update me." Well, fuck you Xbox One. Update my dick in your fuckin disc tray you slow piece of shit. Not my fault my internet fuckin sucks.
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I never liked ACs to begin with. They're bulky, loud and they need to be changed every week.
Like some fucki'n freeloading little shit that doesn't even pay rent.
Seriously- he just sits on his ass all day and plays Call of Duty. Do you KNOW how many times a day I hear "I'M OUT OF CHEESE PUFFS" and I have to go to the store for that little selfish dickweed?
If you guessed several times, you're right.
Let's not even talk about the fact that he uses an excuse to stay in the household almost every day. "Oooooohhh look at me, I keep you cold in the hot summer days." **Big deal.**
Y'know what else keeps me cold? ICE! And that shit's *free* when you got a freezer. It's just another stupid ass piece of technology trying to stay relevant.
Never you mind the truckton of cash I save per year while keeping this freeloading son of a bitch here.
|
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
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What. The actual. Fuck. Is the use of a piece of glass on another piece of glass for. I mean, my coffee table is already fucking glass, and yeah, sure, you don't want to get stains from your beverages on the polished surface. But you still have to clean THE FUCKIN COASTER IF IT GETS DIRTY!
I can think of literally anything else that will do the job as well, if not better, than a small square of fucking designed glass. Paper, for instance, and at least I can do something with the paper if it's not being used. And at least paper actually stops spillages, instead of just fucking up and letting the liquid dribble down onto the table anyway.
Do you know what the glass could be used for, instead of a coaster? A bottle, which can actually hold liquids, and leave little to no effect on the table, instead of being just a glorified fucking tiny rostrum.
|
I never liked ACs to begin with. They're bulky, loud and they need to be changed every week.
Like some fucki'n freeloading little shit that doesn't even pay rent.
Seriously- he just sits on his ass all day and plays Call of Duty. Do you KNOW how many times a day I hear "I'M OUT OF CHEESE PUFFS" and I have to go to the store for that little selfish dickweed?
If you guessed several times, you're right.
Let's not even talk about the fact that he uses an excuse to stay in the household almost every day. "Oooooohhh look at me, I keep you cold in the hot summer days." **Big deal.**
Y'know what else keeps me cold? ICE! And that shit's *free* when you got a freezer. It's just another stupid ass piece of technology trying to stay relevant.
Never you mind the truckton of cash I save per year while keeping this freeloading son of a bitch here.
|
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
|
"David's home is 12.53 miles away from the lake and 16.73 miles away from his school. How far is David's school from the lake?"
This is homework for my ten-year-old, 5th grader daughter.
I'm not bitching about word problems, I've no issue with them. If you're not seeing the issue, read it again. I'll wait.
Figured it out? Yeah. So... is the lake between David's house and the school, or are they opposite directions from his house? Or is David's house the right angle from which they branch? Or is it possible they are their stated difference in any of the other myriad possibilities?
See, I don't want to be a dick about this, but it's seriously a dumb fucking question. When my daughter comes to me for help with her homework, I want to be able to help but accept the possibility that I may very well be unfamiliar with the material. Hell, maybe I might learn something.
This isn't a question of my being familiar with the material, though. I'm great with math and word problems were always my forte. I am saying two things confidently: 1. This is a dumb motherfucking question. 2. Whoever wrote this question is profoundly incompetent.
We're talking about developing brains, here. All her teachers say she's bright, but I've personally witnessed my daughter being a total dumbass on multiple occasions. It doesn't mean she actually *is* a dumbass, it just means she can be - all children can be. I mean, play peek-a-boo with a fucking baby and see how it plays out. There's all kinds of simple shit kids won't get merely because their brains aren't developed to that point yet. They're still growing and this shit takes time.
So, acknowledging all this.. what kind of dumb motherfucker designs a question like this for a kid in this age range/academic group? I know. You want to know? I'll tell you! The dumbest kind of motherfucker. Why? Because whoever wrote this problem thinks it's clearly written. It's not. Painfully not. But they think it is because their brain is only seeing one angle of the problem and therefore they're assuming their problem only has one angle.
This isn't some random question - it's part of the curriculum. So let's see... If this workbook is used throughout the district for fifth grade math education... fifth grade is part of elementary schools (which go up to sixth in our district)... and our district is home to 28 elementary schools averaging 500 students per school... That's an average of 71 kids per 5th grade per school, which means 1,988 5th graders in the district with this math book, and this math book is $150 a pop, so...
$298,200 for this textbook, for our district alone. With this dumb motherfucking question in it. The fucker who wrote this question has *been paid* for their incompetence, and handsomely, too!
What really pisses me off, though, are all the kids reading this question in their homework packet and trying to figure it out, thinking *they're* the ones missing something. We're raising our kids to respect authority at the expense of common sense. My daughter came to me for help with this question and she actually expected me to reveal some hidden meaning in this and make it all make sense. What a shock to discover you're brighter than the people trying to teach you! Not always, but sometimes - and that's what makes it all so confusing.
So here sits the homework packet returned to me after grading. With my help we settled on the answer "20.9 *or* 29.26 *or* 4.2 *or* something else". And the worst part? It isn't marked "correct" or "incorrect". It's merely marked "completed".
|
I seriously can't believe this fucking thing. Even though it's inanimate it out this smug air, like, "Oh, I shine light everywhere. Without me you couldn't see." Well whoop-da-fucking-do! The sun also shines light everywhere, and does a much better job than you ever could. Just because you can cast a small amount of light *inside* a building doesn't mean squat to me. The fact that you were a shade makes the light even more pitiful."Oh, look at me, I'm so bright that humans put a shade on me ." No you asshat, we put a shade on you because we couldn't stand looking directly at you. And don't even get me started on how easy it is to break you. One drop and we have to go back to the store to buy another fragile part. All I'm saying is that you need to get off your high horse you little turd. NO ONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT LAMPS!
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
|
Who the fuck does this piece of plastic dogshit think it is? First, I welcome it lovingly into my house, all fuckin "so glad you're here" and "this is all I wanted for christmas" and all that bullshit. Makin me look like a goddamn moron for thinkin I would enjoy myself around it. Second, when I try to use it, it's all, "sorry, you gotta fuckin update the shit, man." Like, what the fuck dude, I paid 300 dollars for you to be here and now you're fuckin tellin me I can't sit down and play Fallout 4 and have a good time with my friends and shit? Alright. Cool. Fuckin A-okay. I'll bring you over to my parent's house, where the internet can actually cooperate with your bitch-ass. So, the update is done. I've driven another half hour home. And now, you're telling me youneed an update for your controller? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, DUDE? I'm sorry, I don't mean to yell, but now you're fuckin tellin me to update the headset. The fuckin headset. I've owned it for four days now and have literally seen nothing but download bars and "go fuck yourself, update me." Well, fuck you Xbox One. Update my dick in your fuckin disc tray you slow piece of shit. Not my fault my internet fuckin sucks.
|
I seriously can't believe this fucking thing. Even though it's inanimate it out this smug air, like, "Oh, I shine light everywhere. Without me you couldn't see." Well whoop-da-fucking-do! The sun also shines light everywhere, and does a much better job than you ever could. Just because you can cast a small amount of light *inside* a building doesn't mean squat to me. The fact that you were a shade makes the light even more pitiful."Oh, look at me, I'm so bright that humans put a shade on me ." No you asshat, we put a shade on you because we couldn't stand looking directly at you. And don't even get me started on how easy it is to break you. One drop and we have to go back to the store to buy another fragile part. All I'm saying is that you need to get off your high horse you little turd. NO ONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT LAMPS!
|
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[WP] Pick a random object within eyesight of yourself right now... and go on the angriest rant that you possibly can about it.
|
What. The actual. Fuck. Is the use of a piece of glass on another piece of glass for. I mean, my coffee table is already fucking glass, and yeah, sure, you don't want to get stains from your beverages on the polished surface. But you still have to clean THE FUCKIN COASTER IF IT GETS DIRTY!
I can think of literally anything else that will do the job as well, if not better, than a small square of fucking designed glass. Paper, for instance, and at least I can do something with the paper if it's not being used. And at least paper actually stops spillages, instead of just fucking up and letting the liquid dribble down onto the table anyway.
Do you know what the glass could be used for, instead of a coaster? A bottle, which can actually hold liquids, and leave little to no effect on the table, instead of being just a glorified fucking tiny rostrum.
|
I seriously can't believe this fucking thing. Even though it's inanimate it out this smug air, like, "Oh, I shine light everywhere. Without me you couldn't see." Well whoop-da-fucking-do! The sun also shines light everywhere, and does a much better job than you ever could. Just because you can cast a small amount of light *inside* a building doesn't mean squat to me. The fact that you were a shade makes the light even more pitiful."Oh, look at me, I'm so bright that humans put a shade on me ." No you asshat, we put a shade on you because we couldn't stand looking directly at you. And don't even get me started on how easy it is to break you. One drop and we have to go back to the store to buy another fragile part. All I'm saying is that you need to get off your high horse you little turd. NO ONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT LAMPS!
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[WP]You work in a jewelry store. One antique diamond ring sits there, slowly tarnishing. You ask the owner the story of the ring.
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"This ain't an easy job kid."
Joe was sorting the bills, counting them out like he did every night with slow patience. I sat on the old stool, spinning round now the store was closed for the night. I didn't like to leave the old man alone when he locked up and the few extra minutes, they didn't hurt.
“I know.”
“I’m not talking about keeping a piece under the register either.”
My spinning stopped. Joe had my own pay stacked neatly beside the other bills, but he didn’t hand them over yet.
“You’ve done alright,” I said. “Don’t see what’s so hard about it.”
Joe laughed and reached into the back of the register’s drawer. And he pulled it out. The old ring, the one he never talked about but never let me put somewhere safe. It wasn’t the most expensive item in the inventory, heck it wasn’t even the biggest stone. For as long as I’d been working for Joe, I’d seen that ring every time I rang up a customer.
“We deal with people,” Joe said.
“Their things you mean?”
“No.”
He clutched the ring tight in his fist.
“We see people at two points in their life. You’ve got the kid, just got into the military, got his girl pregnant, whatever, and he wants to make it special. He’s coming in here because he’s thinking about everything that’s going to happen when he leaves.”
“And the other?” I asked.
“They come in here to leave a piece of themselves behind. The man who’s wife was killed when they were driving back from a fancy meal. A father whose son isn’t coming home.”
Joe still sat on his chair, still faced the neat stacks of money. He picked mine up and placed the ring on top of it.
“You’re going to see people at their best kid, and at their utter worst. Make whatever money you want from the former, they’re full of life and happy to share.”
Joe held the money out and I held it, but he didn’t let go. The ring was balanced on top.
“When a person comes in this door, and their life has gone to shit? That’s when you’ll realise there are more important things than money.”
He let go and I took my pay. It was perfect as always, all the faces lined up neatly. I flicked the ring back and forth in my fingers.
“Joe?”
“Yeah kid?”
“I appreciate all this.”
After he retired, I took over the running of the store. I saw the happy and the sad.
And every time I opened that register, I saw a reminder that people were more than the things they left behind.
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It was during his first month working at the store that Nathan saw the ring, tucked away in a box behind the cash register.
It was an intricate thing, multiple jewels winking at him. A layer of dust and dirt dimmed its luster ever so slightly. He was reaching for it, when the hoarse voice of Oliver, the store owner, spoke behind him.
"Leave that alone," the old man snapped, grabbing the box and slipping it into his jacket pocket.
"Sorry, I just wanted to clean it, it's a bit grimy," Nathan said, taken aback at the angry set of the old man's mouth. He had never seen him angry - melancholic and tired, certainly, but not angry.
Oliver's scowl faded slightly. "I suppose it is a bit neglected. It's just...this ring...well, never mind. You get back to cleaning the rest of the store, Nathan."
"Tell me!" Nathan said. "Please?"
Oliver knew he could just snap at the young man to leave the matter alone, but Nathan would just keep wondering. Keep digging and pestering him, and keep wanting to look at the ring. He knew how young people worked. He'd been one himself, once.
"It has a curse on it," Oliver said, trying for a light tone of voice.
"One touch and you die that very same night. Supposedly once belonged to an old wizard who proposed to a beautiful young woman...and when she refused him, he placed a terrible curse on it and forced it on her hand."
Nathan was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Whoever touched it thereafter died slowly, in agony," Oliver added a touch defensively. "It somehow landed in my store, the family just wanted to get rid of it. Now, call me a suspicious old fogey, but I just leave it. I don't touch it and I don't sell it."
"Right. A wizard. Ok," Nathan said, and moved off to clean the rest of the store.
As an art student who specialised in jewellery, he'd chosen to work here for some practical experience. An old-fashioned, beautiful little store. He thought it'd be romantic. But Oliver was just a bit too weird, sometimes. He always seemed shocked and discomfited to find Nathan in the store, even though he'd been working there for a month now. The old man had probably been alone for too long. Maybe he should just get a job at a modern gallery.
"You be careful never to touch it, alright, boy? Don't want your death on my hands," Oliver added as Nathan resumed cleaning. He saw Nathan suppress a smirk.
He'd seen the contempt in the boy's eyes after he'd told the story, and was glad. Maybe Nathan would just leave, now. He'd thought it would be interesting to have another person working here, keeping him company. Help his loneliness a little. But all it did was invite trouble and stir up memories he'd rather forget. He'd almost managed to forget about the ring, for example.
The family marriage ring, passed down through the generations, and the many times he'd tried to use it to propose to Estelle. The only love of his life. His life, not hers. He'd almost forgotten the mix of pity and disdain in her eyes when she'd refused him, again and again. Forgotten the cursed thing that he could never manage to toss away or get over his heart to sell, rich as it was with his family's history.
Well. Hopefully his crazy story sent Nathan packing. Things could get back to how it always was, before a strange young life went about interfering with his store and what was buried in its corners.
There would be no more painful questions, and no more memories.
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Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
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